


Without the Moon

by Anonymous_1701



Category: Fred Astaire - Fandom, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers - Fandom, Ginger Rogers - Fandom, golden age hollywood - Fandom
Genre: F/M, How it should have been, Idiots in Love, Infidelity, Inspired by Real Events, Old Hollywood - Freeform, Wish Fulfillment, soul mates, trigger warning, trigger warning for discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29358090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_1701/pseuds/Anonymous_1701
Summary: "Follow the Fleet" was Fred Astaire and Ginger Roger's fifth movie, and after several years of working together, they have become famous for their character's swell romances and their amazing dancing partnership.  Behind the scenes, their actual illicit romance is hotter than anything ever seen on screen, and beleaguered by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, as the saying goes. Will their relationship survive the latest challenge?STORY SIX"There may be trouble ahead,But while there's moonlight and music and love and romance,Let's face the music and danceBefore the fiddlers have fled,Before they ask us to pay the bill,And while we still have the chance,Let's face the music and danceSoon, we'll be without the moon,Humming a different tuneAnd then...There may be teardrops to shed,So while there's moonlight and music and love and romance,Face the music and dance...."Follows the film "Follow the Fleet", shot in 1935 and premiered in 1936.
Relationships: Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers
Comments: 23
Kudos: 20





	1. Valley Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Follow the Fleet" was Fred and Ginger's fifth film together. Like a well-oiled machine, they cranked out another hit movie. Behind the scenes, things weren't as rosy.

"And in the end, we were all just humans… Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness."

\- F. Scott Fitzgerald

*

*

*

SKREECH SKREECH SKREECH went the hinges as Fred cranked the door backwards and forwards a few times. 

“That’s terrible,” Hermes said as he did a theatrical shudder beside him, “no wonder she complained.”

Fred eyeballed the misbehaving door hinges on the screen door of Ginger’s dressing room. Taking the oil can, he carefully dripped oil right where he thought the problem was. “That’s just it, though, she didn’t complain. She just ignores it. I was the one would couldn’t stand it. She rarely complains, even when she has reason to.”

“Ah. So true.” Hermes agreed. He’d just spent a few days up in Big Bear with Ginger on her current movie, “In Person”. She’d been up there for two weeks, but Hermes’ presence had only been required for the dance sequences, as he was working the gig as the Choreographer. He was delighted that Ginger had lovely solo dances in this film, an improvement, in his opinion, on her films with Fred, where only Fred got solos.

“Did you know, though, that they made her swim in Big Bear Lake? It’s fucking freezing! The crew was literally putting their beers into the lake to keep them cold,” Hermes continued, “and Bill Seiter made her dive underwater. Poor girl was near hypothermic afterwards, and she didn’t complain once she realized that nothing she said would change his mind; she just did it. I was livid.”

Fred frowned. If the water was that cold, they shouldn’t have made his poor baby get into it. He didn’t like the idea of her being endangered, but then again, Ginger knew her limits. Unfortunately for her and fortunately for the studio, she had a high pain tolerance level and would carry on despite discomfort when she was determined to do something. Still, he didn’t want her taken advantage of. It galled him that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. And it pissed him off that Lew, her husband who should be looking out for her, wasn’t. 

Fred dropped more oil into the hinge and moved it back and forth. The squeak was definitely less noticeable, and the rust was loosening. “This is a hard thing, Hermes, not getting to have an opinion on these things, even when they affect her.”

Hermes nodded in understanding. “Next time I’ll speak up for her more, if she’ll let me.”

That was the other issue. Ginger was as stubborn as a mule when she decided on some course of action. Her determination was impressive. Unfortunately, changing her mind when she was in the wrong was also difficult for that reason. 

Fred smiled at that as he dropped a final drop of oil into the hinge and was met with the sound of silence. “The girl is hard headed, I’ll give her that.”

He greatly admired his dancing partner and lover, and a big part of that was her dynamic personality. She was full of energy, and enthusiasm and generally had a sunny personality along with her huge drive to succeed, which Fred greatly admired. Nothing had deterred her from achieving her goal of being a star in Hollywood. Of course, that had also included her budding relationship with himself, but now, that was beside the point. 

“So, when does she get back to the studio?” Fred asked. His phone calls with Ginger had been limited since he’d returned with his wife and her son from Ireland two weeks ago. Phyllis didn’t like her calling the house (about as much as Ginger liked calling there) and he’d only been able to get her on the phone by making Hermes call and then handing the phone off to Fred. It was a very inefficient way to communicate. 

“I think she’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

He wiped his oily hands on the rag and put all the fix-it stuff into the bag he’d brought along to the studio. Locking her door carefully with his own key, he and Hermes headed to the rehearsal room.  


The guard at the door, Charles, let them into the soundstage. Flipping on some overhead lights, the two men went to their separate room inside the soundstage. Unlocking that door and flipping more lights, the familiar surroundings revealed themselves. Tossing his bag under his director’s chair set to the side of the foot high rehearsal stage, he sat down and untied his dress shoes. Slipping on his dancing shoes, they awaited their rehearsal pianist, Hal. 

“The day after tomorrow, huh?” Fred considered. He tossed a glance at Hermes. “I can’t wait to see her AND I’m dreading it at the same time.”

Hermes was one of the few people who knew that Fred and Ginger, dance partners and co-stars, were also secret lovers. “Why are you dreading it? You haven’t seen each other in six weeks.”

Fred sat down on the edge of the dance floor and leaned back on his strong arms. Looking up at the lights in the ceiling, he struggled with what to say. Hermes was probably the only person in the world with whom he would dare to tell his deepest thoughts. 

“Yeah, well, I’m stuck,” he began. He leaned forward and put his head into his hands. “Stuck good and tight in a dilemma, like when you stick your finger into those Chinese finger trap thingees? The more you pull, the tighter it gets.“

“Oh?” Hermes answered, giving his friend a closer look. 

Fred sighed. He tamped down on the frustration, resentment and misery that bubbled up in his belly. It was all directed at himself, and his own stupidity and cowardice for making a deal with the devil. “Oh, Hermes, I’m done for. Just done for. Phyllis is pregnant, and of course, I’ve only myself to blame.”

His friend’s eyes widened and he sank down silently beside him. “Oh, shit, Fred.”

For a long time, the two men sat side by side in silence on the dance floor step, each lost in their own thoughts. 

Fred, of course, had had six weeks to come to terms with this new development. Several months ago, when his wife had found out about him and Ginger, she’d demanded a baby as compensation for keeping her silence. She’d also refused to even consider divorce; she enjoyed being Mrs. Fred Astaire and enjoyed his bank account and she absolutely did not want to be a single mom again, with her son from her previous marriage. She and Fred had met in NYC after Ginger had left him for LA, and she’d finally gotten him to tie the knot three days before they’d relocated to the west coast. She was absolutely not going to let him get away from her. Unfortunately for them all, Fred had been paired with his ex-girlfriend on his second movie. They’d signed a seven-movie contract. By the third movie made within a year, Ginger and Fred had realized that they still loved each other desperately. It didn’t help that Ginger was married, too. All around, it was a complicated situation. Now, with Phyllis pregnant, he certainly couldn’t divorce her. 

Hermes was stunned. Leave it to Fred to make a difficult situation worse. Sometimes it seemed to him that the only thing Fred ever planned was his choreography. It certainly seemed that his philosophy on life was to “wing it and see what happens”. Unfortunately, that was Ginger’s philosophy, too. Planning was not their strong suit. 

Phyllis, however, was certainly a planner and Hermes had a grudging respect for her long-sightedness. He’d met her numerous times, when he and Fred had been planning choreography or just hanging out at his house. She was a quiet woman and she liked to keep Fred on a short leash. He had laughed when she said that once, but to a certain extent, it was what Fred needed so that he didn’t just float off into the air, untethered to daily life. He would get so absorbed in dance or music that he’d forget to eat or drink or sleep, and she definitely kept him on track. She also handled all their money, or else Fred would be broke. Fortunately, though, he made so much money that the consequences to his mismanagement were small. The last time he’d been over for dinner, she had told him that she was buying up real estate properties in Beverly Hills, and had just bought a double lot. She was already hiring architects to design a new home for them so they could get out of the rental. Phyllis definitely managed their lives competently, so that Fred could focus on work, dance… and Ginger. 

Hermes quickly came to the conclusion that this was going to be messy. Or rather, messier. The whole situation was already a disaster, and none of the three involved – four if you counted Ginger’s absent husband – were ready to change. Ginger was the unstoppable force, Phyllis was the immovable object and Fred was stuck in the middle. He shook his head ruefully.

“Well, you’ve really put your foot in it now, my friend,” he said, clapping Fred on the back and squeezing his shoulder. 

Fred scrubbed his hands on his face, and up close, Hermes could see the redness and strain in his eyes. “Now I have to tell Ginger. God damn, Hermes, what have I done?”

Hermes didn’t have any answers for him. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Fred’s shoulders, and just held him as his friend let his head drop onto his shoulder in despair. That’s how Hal found them fifteen minutes later, sitting in silence on the step of the wooden dance floor. 

Hal struck the bugle call chords on the piano to change the somber mood. With a heave, Fred stood up and shook his whole body like a dog. “Okay, boys, let’s make some music and dance.”

******************************

Cars were parked bumper to bumper all up and down her street. She couldn’t find a parking spot anywhere near her own house. Driving slowly, she could see that every light in her house on and people roamed the house, the lawn and even spilled in the street. She clutched the steering wheel tighter as she realized her husband Lew was throwing a party in their house. Obviously he’d forgotten that she was coming home tonight. Or maybe, he hadn’t forgotten, and just hadn’t cared. 

Giving up, she drove to George Gershwin’s house, six blocks down from hers and pulled into his private driveway. She banged on the door loudly to get his attention. When her friend opened the door cautiously, she asked if she could park in his drive, since hers was full. 

Looking down the street, George shook his head at the party and agreed. Opening his second gate to the inner courtyard, Ginger pulled in and locked her car up. 

“You can stay here, if you want,” George said, pulling his robe around himself tighter. He was in his pajamas and writing music in his piano room. He frequently stayed up all night writing, so Ginger had known that she probably wasn’t waking him up. 

“Thanks, sweetie, but I really want my own bed,” she replied, fighting a huge yawn. In fact, she could have stayed one more night in Big Bear, but had chosen to drive the three hours just to get home. Waving goodnight, she walked quickly down the block to her own house. 

Navigating partiers, few of whom she recognized, she was tired enough to not even be angry. All she wanted to do was sleep, and maybe cry in frustration. Making her way upstairs to her room, pushing through crowds of people and keeping her head down, she let out a huge sigh of relief when she saw one of her own security guards from the studio lot stationed outside her bedroom door. 

Charles smiled when he saw her sneaking down the hallway, pushing past partiers. He was a big, burly black man and he took his job seriously. As he recognized Ginger under the hat she had pulled low over her fact to avoid being recognized, he unlocked her door and let her in. “Here you go, Miss G. Lew did one thing right tonight, at least. He kept your room and everything in it safe by hiring me. Not gonna let anyone in here but you!” 

“Thank you so much. What a huge relief!” she slipped into her room and he locked the door behind her.

She could still hear the noise from the party all around her. Sitting on her bed, she kicked off her low heels and went to close the curtains. Maybe she could sleep. Maybe. 

Ten minutes later, she was so frustrated and exhausted that she wanted to scream. She’d been delighted to do “In Person” but it had been a tiring shoot, with her own solo dance routines. Following on the exhausting “Top Hat” movie with Fred and his brutal rehearsal schedule and all of the drama with Phyllis and carrying on with Fred frequently, she was bone tired. She’d also lost a lot of weight. Usually she hovered right around 110 pounds, but she was pretty sure she was below a hundred pounds right now. She had an idea and sat up.

Dialing the phone number of Fred’s study, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited. After two rings, he picked up. He must be reading in his study. Just hearing his smooth voice soothed her.  
“Hey baby, it’s me,” she said, louder than she wanted to because of the party noise.

On the other end of the line, Fred smiled and she could hear it in his voice, “Hi sweet heart! Are you back? What is all that noise?”

“Yep, I just got back in town a few minutes ago, and I’ll be ready to start rehearsals on Monday, but Lew is throwing a party here and it’s noisy.” She hesitated and went on, “But Fred, can I ask a favor?”  


““Anything!” was his immediate response. 

“Can I borrow that house up in Santa Barbara for the weekend? The one where we had that little rendezvous? I could use some peace and quiet and sleep. I’m not going to get that here, there’s easily a couple hundred people in my house right now.” Anger crept into her voice. Lew could be so inconsiderate some times and she was just too tired to deal with his bullshit tonight.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, as if her partner was thinking hard. Or, maybe he had fallen asleep on the phone, which wouldn’t be the first time. Finally, Fred responded. 

“I have an even better idea. Pack up. I’m coming to get you. Can you get to George’s house? I’ll pick you up there in 15.”

“Yeah, I can do that. See you soon!”

“I’ll honk.”

Ginger scrambled to throw some clean clothes into a duffle bag. Her exhaustion disappeared. The excitement of seeing Fred after six weeks of absence infused her tired body with new energy. However, she didn’t want to plow through the party guests again or risk running into her husband. She scribbled a note and left it propped on her dresser. She knocked on the door. 

Charles opened it. She whispered in his ear that she was leaving a note for Lew if he didn’t mind passing on the message. Charles looked at her sideways, but agreed. He was utterly dependable and would make sure it was seen. 

Closing and locking the door again, Ginger opened the double door to her second story balcony. Looking over the side, she tossed the bag down, and carefully climbed into the huge avocado tree that grew at that corner of the house. Shimmying down, she high-tailed it to the fence that separated her house from the neighbors, tossed her duffle over and climbed it. By doing so repeatedly, she eventually ended up at Ira’s house, George’s brother, who lived next door to George and five down from her. 

Ira, the lyricist of the sibling duo, was sipping chamomile tea when he spotted the fence climber and angrily opened his back door to yell. He was dumbstruck, though, when a disheveled Ginger walked up to his back porch, shouldered her bag, and wished him a good night. Lifting her chin to a haughty angle, as if daring him to comment, she walked through his house and disappeared into the night. In bemusement, he watched her go without a word. He chewed the end of his pencil and thought. Maybe he could write a song about the crazy neighbors. 

*********************

Fred rolled to a near stop in front of George’s house and honked the horn. Expecting to see his love coming out the front door, he was startled to see her dart out of the bushes along his front fence. He opened the door, she threw in her duffle and slid into the front seat. Fred tilted his hat low and hit the gas.

Ginger tossed her bag into the back seat of his Rolls Royce town car, next to his own bag. Fred’s smiling face greeted her from under his wide-brimmed hat, his smile so big that his eyes practically disappeared. She’d never seen such a wonderful sight. She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed him. “Hi baby, where are we going?”

Fred split his attention between her and the neighborhood road, full of parked cars; their owners all at the party at Ginger’s house, and some still roaming the street looking for a parking spot. “It’s a surprise.”

Reaching the end of the street where it met Sunset Blvd., he came to a careful stop. Ginger reached over and grabbed his arm, but he was already in motion. Leaning together, his lips met hers for a long moment. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered as they came apart. 

“And I’ve missed you,” she answered, “How did you get away?”

Fred shrugged. “I just left. Packed a bag and said I’d be back Monday after work. I didn’t give her time to question anything.”

Ginger would have liked to have seen that scene. She could just imagine how angry Phyllis must have been and it delighted her to no end.

Fred turned down Sunset and headed towards the I-405 on-ramps. To her surprise, however, he turned south. 

“Um, baby, I think you missed the exit,” Ginger said, craning her neck to look back onto the ramp for the one heading north, towards Santa Barbara. 

“Nope. I didn’t. I have a surprise.” Fred had a gleam in his eye, and she knew he was up to something. “Sit back, relax and leave it to me.”

Now that the initial surge of adrenaline was wearing off, she could feel her limbs getting heavy and her exhaustion creeping up on her again. She took his advice. It was already well past the time that she was usually in bed, going on ten o’clock now, and she smothered a yawn. Leaning her head against the window, she watched as they slid past the lights of night time Los Angeles. The new southern suburbs slid past, too; Santa Monica on the coast, Inglewood, Torrance. It wasn’t until they reached Long Beach that her eyes were too heavy to stay open. Fred wasn’t in a talking mood apparently; it was a comfortable sort of silence and she appreciated it. She let her eyes close.

She didn’t wake up until she felt the car stop moving. Cracking open heavy eyelids, she watched as Fred get out and came to her side of the car. She stretched and yawned. Looking around sleepily, she was completely disoriented. She had no idea where they were.

All around her, desert scrub broken by a few palm trees met her eyes. The full moon above them lit up the area. A spicy, dusty smell assaulted her nose and she breathed deeply of the clean air, which was definitely not the typical air in Los Angeles. 

Fred opened her door and helped her out, then grabbed their bags. Kicking the door shut, he walked up the driveway to an old adobe house, his feet crunching on the gravel drive. Looking behind her, she could see a long winding, private driveway, with a wrought iron gate at the end, though it was hard to see in the dark. Of more interest was the house, a single story rambling affair, with thick heavy walls, solid wood beams and a presumably red tiled roof. Jangling the keys, he let them in and flipped the light. 

A red clay tile floor, similar to hers at home, greeted her eyes. Black wrought iron lamps illuminated the room, filled with a tasteful assortment of heavy wood and leather furniture and oil paintings on the rough white walls. She rubbed her tired eyes. “Fred, where are we?”

“My house,” he replied, grinning at her confusion. He held his hand out and turned in a circle. “My little secret. I haven’t told Phyllis about it yet.”

She looked around with as much interest as she could muster while weaving with exhaustion. The home had the slightly dry smell of an unlived-in vacation house. Their footsteps echoed. “This is yours?”

“Yeah, I used to visit here as a kid. We were friends with the family that owned it, and when they were looking to sell back in 1933, after I’d moved to LA, I snapped it up. I’ve been buying up property all around it ever since. I think I’m up to 125 acres now. I’m gonna have race horses here soon.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You’ve owned this house for two years and you’ve never told me?”

He giggled with delight, “Yep! I’ve been waiting for just the right time. And I guess it’s now!”

“Oh, my,” she smiled and yawned again, “And does it have a bedroom?”

If Fred wanted to bed her, it would have to wait until the morning, though. She couldn’t keep her eyes open no matter how much she wanted to. 

Taking in her state, was immediately contrite. “You’re really tired, aren’t you?”

A flash of worry ignited within him. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen her more exhausted. It was probably his fault. They’d already done two movies together this year, and he drove them both hard, plus she’d done two more movies in between their dance pictures and it was only September. He took her coat, and hung it up in the coat closet and turned to look at her. 

She was thin, strikingly so. She had always been slim and strong, but now he was sure that he could have put his fingers around her waist. He could see that her casual tee shirt hung off her shoulders and her pants had to be held up by the belt. She was trying hard to keep her eyes open, so that they appeared unnaturally wide, but they closed in a slow blink even as he watched. 

“Alright, enough talk.” He steered her towards the master bedroom in the back with a hand upon the small of her back, and grabbed her bag. Together they walked down the long hallway. A huge King size bed was the centerpiece of the room, between tall bookshelves filled with books, art pieces and knick knacks. He turned on the table lamp on the dresser and dropped her duffle onto the floor next to it. 

She was unresisting as he helped her out of her clothes and into bed. Within seconds, it was obvious that she was out like a light. 

Fred locked up the house, returned with his own overnight bag and peeked out the bedroom window. From here, his closest neighbor was over half mile away and he could barely see their porch lights. They would have complete privacy here. Tossing his own clothes onto a nearby chair, he climbed into bed beside her and watched her sleep in the moonlight until sleep took him, too.

**************************

Sometime in the night, Ginger awoke and needed the restroom. Doing her business, she hurried back as quickly as possible and snuggled under the covers, pulling them up under her chin and trying to find the warm spot that she’d just left. She hardly ever got to sleep with Fred the entire night. Usually, one or the other of them or both, had to hurry home after just a few hours. It was a luxury to get to stay together. She snuggled back against him and enjoyed his warmth.

Fred was awake. He carefully kept his breathing even and slow, so that she would think he was still asleep. As she curled into him, her back to his front, he could feel her relax where their bodies touched. Soon, her even breathing was the only noise in the room.

It had been a good idea to bring her here. She would enjoy the old homestead, with the creek that ran along the bottom of the little valley where his house was situated. It was a 1879 adobe home, built by hand and he couldn’t wait to show it to her in the morning. Being here always relaxed him. He would absorb every bit of peace and calm that could be found here, because tomorrow he’d have to tell her that his wife was pregnant, and it would change everything. 

The though made him tense up as the frustrated anger that he’d held in check until now bubbled up within him. Why on earth had he ever thought this would be a good idea? He’d even doubted Phyllis when she’d told him about the pregnancy. She certainly didn’t look pregnant. He’d doubted until she’d pressed his hand, firmly, into her abdomen and he could feel the hard grapefruit sized ball in her pelvis that she said was her uterus… and his baby inside. He’d snatched his hand back, but it was immediately, devastatingly real. The idea that he would have a son or daughter… it boggled his mind. He enjoyed Peter, Phyllis’ son, and wondered what fatherhood would be like, because he liked the boy, but this… This was something else. The feelings of awe and wonder and anticipation were equally mixed with dread and resentment. This baby would change the dynamics between himself and his wife and his love, and he wasn’t sure how it was all going to shake out. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to control the panic that set in. He was well and truly trapped and he knew his heart would be broken one way or another. That was okay; he’d done that to himself and he truly deserved every consequence that fate could dish out. But it wasn’t only himself who would pay. The beautiful, fragile angel snuggled in his arms, his first and best love, would pay more than he. He damned himself for the anguish that he would cause her and had already caused.

Every time that he considered calling the whole thing off, though, his heart rebelled violently. He had had nearly five years to work through his feelings for Ginger, after all. This was more than just a passing fancy. He surely did not want to be trapped in a loveless marriage with Phyllis for the rest of his life, not after getting a taste of what real love could be like, either. Yet he couldn’t just divorce her; he had an obligation here. The only way, for him, was to continue to live a double life – but only if Ginger agreed.

The only gift that he could give her was his love and the power to continue their relationship or not, as it suited her. He hoped like hell that it would be enough. He squeezed his eyes shut against the hot tears that wanted to escape and tried not to make any noise to wake her.

Beside him, Ginger was still awake. She could feel him tense up behind her and his breathing hitch and hold, numerous times. She could understand if he was feeling happy and peaceful, getting to spend time together after six weeks of being apart. The sadness though… she could think of only two reasons for his despair. Either he was calling it off, or his wife was pregnant. And, since he was here and had easily enough ditched his wife to spend the weekend with her, she could only assume that he wasn’t calling it off. That wasn’t the feeling she was getting at all from him. He seemed utterly delighted to see her again. So, it must be the other. Phyllis must be pregnant.

Carefully keeping her body loose and relaxed and her breathing steady, she let the emotions roll through. Fear of losing him. Anger at Phyllis for pulling a smart move and anchoring Fred to her. Frustration, that she hadn’t talked with Fred sooner about calling Phyllis’ bluff and refusing to go along with the ‘plan’. Bitterness, because that really wasn’t an option. Jealousy, because she couldn’t have children and she’d never know that part of life. Curiosity, wondering what Fred’s baby would look like. Cold fear again, and a chill in her gut, wondering if Fred would call it off after all, when the baby was born. All these thoughts and emotions rampaged through her mind, but it was an old story now. She’d ran these same thoughts through her mind a thousand times over the last few weeks and had already come to a conclusion. One she wished she’d come to a few years ago.

Plain and simple, she loved this man and she wanted him in her life however she could have him, regardless of the complications or the consequences. 

Behind her, Fred sniffled and reached carefully for a tissue on the bedside table, still trying not to wake her. Pausing for a moment longer, she rolled over to face him, as if he’d partially woken her. She kicked at his legs gently, so that she could twine hers with his and wiggled even closer to him. His warm scent surrounded her. She smiled when he wrapped his arm around her waist and carefully buried his face in her blond curls. She could feel him take a deep breath. Gradually, the silent shuddering eased, and his body softened against hers. She tucked her arm around his waist and pulled herself against him as tightly as she could. Within seconds, she knew that he had drifted off to a more peaceful sleep. Safe in his arms, for now, so did she.


	2. Facing the Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things get darker just before the light. Descending into that darkness can be scary, but if you've good company, it makes the trip better.
> 
> "Come and kiss me and let's forget." - F. Scott Fitzgerald  
> 
> 
> ************************************************************

Saturday, September 14, 1935

The smell of cooking bacon woke Ginger. Padding down the hallway in bare feet, wearing nothing but Fred’s button down shirt, she peeked around the corner to see him very carefully trying to pull breakfast together. Fred was not a cook, but he was doing his best. He hovered next to the frying pan, watching it closely as if he dared the bacon to misbehave while under his direct observation.  


She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back. 

“Good morning,” she said, enjoying the simple act of getting to spend the morning with him. That didn’t happen very often, either.

His hands patted hers and he turned his body to talk over his shoulder. “Morning? It’s nearly 2pm! I would have loved to wake up together, but you just kept sleeping and sleeping and I got hungry.”

“Two o’clock! Dear Lord,” she gasped. “I had no idea.”

“You must have needed it,” he said, carefully removing the bacon from the pan and setting it aside. Next to the stove, the toast popped up from the toaster. “I was just about to wake you, though. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

She grabbed the toast and the plates and rummaged around in the fridge for butter. Not finding any, she just used the jar of peanut butter on the counter and slathered the toast. “How come there’s food here?” 

They grabbed their breakfast and went into the dining room off the kitchen. Fred followed with hot water for her tea and a cup of coffee for him. 

“What are you wearing?” Fred asked, his eyes glued on the hem of his shirt that swished around her bare legs and butt. “And I paid one of the construction guys to fill the fridge last night.”

She did a little twirl in the shirt and smirked at the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of her bare skin. “Not much.”

“I see that. I like it.” If Fred hadn’t actually been hungry, he’d have forgotten all about breakfast, but his stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. Since he hadn’t eaten anything since dinner the night before, food took precedence. Besides, he hadn’t done a half bad job on the bacon.

After breakfast, he invited her for a tour of his property. She'd been hoping that they'd head back to the bedroom, but he apparently had different ideas. He couldn't wait to show her the house. So, she threw on a few more clothes and joined him outside. She’d seen a bit of the construction from the window, too, but outside now, the scale impressed her. Lumber was everywhere in stacks, along with roofing materials, sheet metal wall pieces and a whole lot of fencing along with some heavy earth moving machinery.

“What are you building?” she asked, leaning against one of the finished fences. The afternoon sun was in her eyes and she shaded them with her hand. It was also slightly dusty, as a hot breeze picked and up swirled the sand around in tiny dust devils.

“A whole complex for my future horses,” he replied. “An indoor arena with a concourse for seating about a hundred people, surrounded by two dozen stalls, some offices, couple of tack rooms and feed storage, the whole nine yards.”

Fred sighed happily. This had been a dream of his for a long time. Now, he finally had the money and the property to make it come true.

“Your Lucky might have been the first horse I’ve ever purchased, but he won’t be the last.”

Contentment shone in his eyes. 

“I’m sure it’s going to be just grand,” she said. She adored the way he dreamed big.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that she could do something similar. She also loved horses, but she enjoyed riding them, not watching them race, as he did. She could build a stable of her own and ride whenever she wanted to. She didn’t picture desert, though, in her imagining. She saw mountains and rivers and brilliant green fields. Her brief visit to Oregon a year ago had made more of an impression on her than she’d thought. Things clicked into place in her mind. Someday, she’d own a ranch in Oregon, in the mountains, next to a river. Then she could ride and fish to her heart’s content and maybe raise chickens and beef cattle. Her creation would be grand, too, in a completely different way, an escape from Los Angeles and the noise and busyness.

He led her on a tour of the whole equestrian center, showing her where everything would be. Hand in hand, they spent the next hour happily discussing his plans.

Finally, though, she feared that she would get too sunburnt in her shorts and they retreated to the house. While she perused his bookshelf, he cleared his throat behind her. 

When she turned, he looked serious, his face drawn and somber. Sticking both hands in his pockets, he said, “Ginge, we have to talk.”

She stepped up quickly and put a finger over his lips. “No. Not today. We have tomorrow, still, right? Tell me then. I just want one more day with you, just like it is.”

Since he didn’t want to have this conversation with her anyway, he was more than willing to wait until tomorrow, Sunday. Rehearsals started on Monday. “Okay, sounds good.”

The doorbell rang. 

“Shit, get into the bathroom,” he directed, “No one can see you here.”

She shuffled off obediently. As she closed the door, he said, “I told my buddy to bring more groceries by this afternoon and forgot. I told him I had a guy friend over who was going through a terrible divorce who needed some space, but I sure didn’t tell him about you! Scoot, please!”

After a few minutes of small talk, the groceries were delivered, and Fred hollered at her to come out of the bathroom. 

“Shouldn’t you be quieter?” she scolded. 

“Nah, these thick adobe walls are practically soundproof.” He was in the process of unloading more groceries. 

“Good grief, how much do you think I eat?” she asked, “Because I know you eat like a bird.”

“I’m grilling steaks for dinner, plus salad and garlic bread.” He held up two slabs of meat. “And you are too thin.”

She sat down at the kitchen counter seats and watched him putter around. She got a kick out of this simple domesticity. 

Later, after dinner, which Ginger took over making so as to be edible, they stepped out to the porch. After a bit, the stars revealed themselves and winked at them from the blackness. It was cooling down rapidly, and she was glad that she had thought to grab a blanket from the linen closet. After shaking out a bit of dust, they settled onto the porch swing hanging from a heavy wooden beam, wrapped up tight. The two snuggled together and watched the sun set over the dusty hills.

“So I’m liking this new script, for the most part,” he began, “And I’m thinking that you should have a solo during this film.”

She perked up and clapped her hands in delight, “Really?”

“Yeah, your tap is coming along well. What do you think?” he asked. His heart shaped head inclined towards her and his hazel eyes twinkled.

“Hell, yeah! Thank you!” She snuggled back into his arms. A solo of her own, finally! She knew Fred would only give her a solo if he thought her dancing was up to snuff. She’d worked damn hard to improve with every film. Fred was a good teacher, though it was usually Hermes who taught her the dances first, and he was an excellent teacher with endless patience and a phenomenal ability to instruct. 

“And Irving Berlin has outdone himself on the music,” he continued, “Plus you’ll have your own song solo. It’s a cute little number called “Let Yourself Go.”

In their scripts, which they’d had for a week now, it just said “Insert Music Here” where the songs and dances should be. Since those things fell under Fred’s purview instead of the script writers, it was up to him and the composer to fill in those gaps. 

“Oh, I’m excited! I can’t wait.”

“You know that place in the script, where Sherry and Bake put on a fundraiser dance? I figured out what to put in that spot. It doesn’t have anything to do with the plot of the movie, though. I have full reign to do what I want, and I wanted this. Irving and I worked something out that will be the most romantic thing yet.”

She laughed. “You always say that. You said it about “Cheek to Cheek” on ‘Top Hat’, about “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” on ‘Roberta’ and about “Night and Day” on ‘The Gay Divorcee.’”

He smiled, a wistful smile and she wondered at it.

“Yeah, but this time I mean it even more. It’s gonna be a knockout and people are going to be curious about it for years. Wanna know why?”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why?” She leaned away from him and crossed her arms. 

“Because it’s for YOU. Not the character. YOU.”

“And why would it be for me and not Sherry?”

“Well, we said we wouldn’t talk about it until tomorrow…” Suddenly, he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Ginger thought fast. Equal parts dread and curiosity warred within her. 

“Well, how about you sing it to me today, and we talk about it tomorrow?”

A slight breeze picked up. The moon rose over the dusty hills and shone through the willow branches of the creek that ran through the small valley. She draped the blanket around her shoulders, shivering in anticipation, as Fred stood up and faced her on the wide covered wraparound porch. The wooden floorboards creaked under the little barrage of tap that he let loose with in his street shoes. Fred’s smooth tenor voice quietly filled the porch along with the slight shimmering rustle of leaves.

“There may be trouble ahead…”

Ginger had already intuited that. She held the blanket tighter.

“But while there’s moonlight and music, and love and romance -  
Let’s face the music and dance.”

Tears sparked in her eyes. Indeed, this could be their swan song, but she hoped not. Fred continued, taking her hand, and setting one knee on the dusty porch. 

“Before the fiddlers have fled,  
Before they ask us to pay the bill,  
And while we still have the chance,  
Let's face the music and dance…”

Fred’s face was a mask of sorrow, his eyes locked onto hers, but his voice was confident and sure.

“Soon, we'll be without the moon,  
Humming a different toon,  
And then, there may be tear drops to shed.  
So while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance,  
Let's face the music and dance.”

He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. The blanket fell off her shoulders in a pile on the porch swing. 

“Let's face the music and dance,  
Soon, we'll be without the moon,  
Humming a different toon,  
And then, there may be tear drops to shed.

So while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance,  
Let's face the music and dance, dance!  
Let's face the music and dance…”

His song trailed off into the darkness. She let him lead her in a gentle step around the porch while he hummed the tune in her ear. The same tension tightened his shoulders, the same tension as last night when he thought she was sleeping. His large hand slipped further around her waist, holding her closer. Over his shoulder, Ginger could see the silver moon rising higher and shivered. 

“Are you cold?” he asked in her ear. 

She shook her head. “Let’s go inside.”

Letting go of her reluctantly, he grabbed the blanket and locked the door behind them, closing out the cool September air. 

She reached out behind her and he immediately held her hand. She led him towards the bedroom, and he let go of her only to light a candle on the nightstand. The warm golden light filled the room.

Her fingers unbuttoned his short sleeve shirt. Underneath he had a cotton undershirt. “Geez, baby, it’s like 90 degrees out, how many layers do you have on?”

He was not to be distracted. He lifted her chin so that she had to look at him. “Don’t deflect. What did you think of the song?” 

“I think it’s lovely and it scares me just a little bit.”

She unbuttoned the last one and pulled it off of his arms, tossing it away into the darkness. The undershirt followed. Holding his hips, she leaned in and kissed his chest, right over his heart. 

That simple movement ignited a fire in him. The quiet, almost somber mood evaporated. With a quick motion, he whipped off the rest of his clothes and yanked her shirt over her head, even as she squeaked in surprise at the change. Their fingers fumbled together over the buttons on her shorts and he pulled her underwear down so fast that her feet got tangled up in them and she had to grab at his shoulders for balance. 

They stumbled together towards the bed. With a twist, she hooked an ankle around his leg, and he hit the bed first, with her climbing right on top of him. Straddling him, she kissed him hard, their lips mashing together in a desperate clinch. His hands wrapped nearly around her thighs where they met her butt. With a twist of his own, he flipped her over and tossed her higher up in the bed.

“Jesus, Fred,” she began but he silenced her with his lips as he pursued her. His hands tangled in her hair and he held her down with his weight, his strong body pushing her into the mattress. Her hands grasped at his back, sliding over his flat strap muscles contracting and flowing like water under his skin, being careful not to use her nails. She kicked her legs to get them out from under his and around his hips. With a deft motion, he slipped inside her, rock hard and ready. 

“Oh, god, Ginge,” he murmured into her hair, driving into her, his hips thrusting hard. 

Hours upon hours of dancing closely together had given her the ability to anticipate his every move, and she met him every bit of the way. Without having to worry about anyone hearing them, neither were quiet. She moaned and hummed with pleasure. 

Finally, he stiffened and shuddered, and she held him tighter as he released within her. He hid his face in her shoulder and thrust twice more, until she came with a cry of her own, throwing her head back on the pillow. The desperation eased as they caught their breath. 

He slid out of her and flopped over onto the bed, gasping for breath. “Fuck.” 

She began to giggle. “Well, yes, definitely.” 

She looked over at him where he lay beside her, flushed, and spent. “Jesus, Fred, that was worth the wait.”

He caught his breath, his chest heaving. Rolling onto his side to face her, he propped his head onto his crooked arm. His familiar mischievous grin split his face. He reached out and let his fingers trail over her breasts. “Let’s face the music, and dance…”

She crawled over to him and straddled him again. Holding his hands down over his head, she leaned in and whispered against his lips. “Let’s…” 

*************************

Sunday, September 15, 1935

Morning came too soon. After breakfast, they walked hand in hand down to the creek that ran through the lowest part of the property.

Fred found a big rock to sit on in the shade, while Ginger sat on a smaller one and dangled her feet into the warm, shallow water. Overhead, the willows moved with a slight breeze.

His mind was moving a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what to say. The bucolic surroundings were at variance with the chaos in his mind and heart. “So…”

Ginger sighed, and turned partially towards him, keeping one leg dangling into the water. Hooking her arms around her other knee on the rock, she waited for the words that would change their lives. 

After a few minutes of silence ticked by, Fred rubbed his forehead and said, “Damn it to hell, I don’t know how to tell you this…”

“Let me guess,” she replied, since he seemed unable to spit it out. Trying not to sound too bitter, she said, “Phyllis is pregnant.”

His comical look of surprise nearly made her laugh. Surely, she could put one and one together and come up with two. It wasn’t that hard.

He leaned back on his rock and looked up at the blue sky. “Yeah.”

A few more minutes of silence ticked by. 

“How far along?”

“Twenty weeks, just over halfway.” 

Ginger shot up out of the creek, sloshing warm water over the bank. “Twenty weeks?”

She did the math quickly in her head. She could feel her blood pressure rising and her face flushed. “So… she got pregnant at the beginning of ‘Top Hat’, essentially.”

“Yes, but she didn’t tell me until we were in London, afterwards. I didn’t know until then.” His wife hadn’t said anything until they were well away from Los Angeles. He hadn’t even had a clue about it. She hadn’t shown any signs of morning sickness until he’d stumbled upon her throwing up in the bathroom of their hotel room in London, when she’d finally told him. 

“So… during our little fight in my dressing room… she was already pregnant and knew it.” Ginger swallowed the bile that threatened to come up from her suddenly churning stomach. It made the whole mess with the ostrich feather dress so much more cruel. She replayed the ugly scene of Phyllis telling her that she looked like a rooster in her mind and the white hot anger returned.

“I understand why you made a deal with her, but for the life of me, I’ll never understand why you married that… woman.” 

She really wanted to say ‘bitch’ but didn’t quite dare. She didn’t want to push him so hard that he felt obligated to take his wife’s side, and polite women shouldn’t use those words, but oh, how she wanted to. She’d use them later when Fred wasn’t around.

Fred put his head into his hands. “I don’t know, Ginge. She was different in New York.”

She could imagine it. The white hot anger in her belly didn’t stop her from imagining the joy that horrible woman must have felt at being the girlfriend and then wife of the famous Broadway dancer, Fred Astaire. No wonder Phyllis insisted that he marry her three days before the move from NYC to LA. She was terrified that she’d lose him in Hollywood. And she was right to have been afraid. Fred would be hers if not for Phyllis’ wily scheme.

“I can only say that I’m sorry so many times, Ginge.” 

She had no doubt that he was contrite and regretful. It just didn’t make the situation any better.

The unfairness of the whole thing infuriated her. She grabbed a bit clod of mud out of the creek bottom and chucked it at a willow tree. The splatter was satisfying. Grabbing another glob, she threw this one harder. She scooped up another handful.

Fred chose an unfortunate moment to laugh. Turning on him, she chucked the next smelly glob of creek mud straight at him. It splattered all over his chest, speckling his face with mud. 

“Shut up, this is your fault.”

His mouth made a small “O” of surprise. He looked down at the mud on his shirt, and then over at her. His eyes narrowed.

“Well, it’s your fault too. If you’d been open to marriage in New York, I’d have asked you, but you were bound and determined to run away to Hollywood and make it big.” He stuck his hands on his hips and glared at her.

She scooped another handful out of the now muddy creek. “And I did, didn’t I?” 

With good aim, she threw it at him, and he didn’t even try to duck. More gooey, stinky mud splattered his nice dress shirt and slacks. 

“Yes, the famous Miss Ginger Rogers, acclaimed actress and dancer. Thanks to me.” He moved off his rock and took two steps to the creek. Gathering his own handful of mud, he nodded spitefully in her direction.

“Thanks to YOU? I don’t think so, mister. I had twenty movies to my name when you slithered into Hollywood from Broadway. Do you think anyone would look at you, with your big ears and your goofy face, if it weren’t for me? Ha!” Truly furious now, she couldn’t tell if they were actually fighting or playing. 

“Oh yeah?” He flung his own handful of mud straight at her, showering her shorts and legs. “Oh yeah? Well, you‘re probably right. So there.”

He scooped up more mud and smirked. He wasn’t quite sure if they were fighting or playing, either.

“And you’re obsessive, and a perfectionist and a fabulous dancer.” She landed another glob onto his slacks.

His next handful hit squarely on her shoulder and splattered her blond curls with muck. “And you’re stubborn and talented and I love you more every god damned day.” 

She attempted to wipe the slime off of her mouth and cheek. The motion only succeeded in smearing it further and she gagged a little bit. “Fuck you, Fred Astaire, with your stupid pregnant wife and bald head and your amazing dancing feet. I love you more.”

She stomped out of the creek and tried to clean her hands by wiping them on her shorts. It only added to the mess. Fred splashed out of the creek and got up in her face. “Fuck you, Ginger Rogers, with your sassy mouth and gorgeous legs and courageous heart. And I don’t think so.” 

Hearing Fred swear always made her laugh. It looked so incongruent coming out of his mouth. She couldn’t help it and cracked a grin. His answering one cooled her anger. He took her slimy, muddy hands in his and kissed her messy fingers. Now his lips were equally messy.

“I’m not kissing you like that,” she retorted. “That’s absolutely disgusting.”

“So is this whole situation, but it is what it is and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

Returning full circle to the start of the argument-discussion, she reluctantly agreed. She yanked her hands back. The words nearly made her sick, but she ground out, “So, you can’t divorce her now.”

“No.” He ran his messy hands through is thin hair, leaving it standing up in places. “Son of a bitch. I’m a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” He stomped away from her and kicked at the big rock he’d been sitting on.

Ginger agreed, but it wouldn’t help by saying so. Instead, she said, “What’s done is done. No use crying over spilled milk and whatever. So…”

Her courage failed her, and she waited on him. 

“So… where do we go from here?” he asked, trying to swipe the mud off his pants leg and one shoe and turning to face her. “This is your call, baby. I’ll do whatever you want to do.”

Except the obvious, of course, which would be to divorce Phyllis. However, one didn’t divorce their pregnant wife for their girlfriend, not even in Hollywood. 

“Maybe if you stopped saying that Fred, you wouldn’t be in this situation.” One last burst of temper got the best of her. 

He grinned. “Okay, bossy pants. But I like it when you tell me what to do.”

Even in the dire circumstances that they found themselves in, she couldn’t stay mad at him for long. She attempted to shake off some mud, but it was clinging and stinking. “Fine. Let’s go take a hot shower together, do our best to break the bed and forget about the circumstances.” She paused, “And when junior is born, we’ll reconsider things and go from there. Sound fair?”

Fred nodded frantically. Getting to have even a few more months with her was more than he’d dared to hope for. It had been a good idea, bringing her here. 

Hand in hand, they retreated to the big adobe house.

*****************************

Wednesday, September 18, 1935

The weekend sped by too fast and the third day of rehearsal for Ginger dawned bright and clear, an unfortunate day to have to spend inside a soundstage. 

After their weekend getaway and two days of reading through the script and tossing around ideas, the two dancers were in good spirits. Hermes and Ginger had taken a run around the outside of the Studio to work on strength training for the first time, but she was winded and ended up walking back to the soundstage in the last half mile, holding her side.

Fred had been mulling his solo on the dance floor, just moving around while Hal played the music in the background. Sometimes inspiration hit in bits and pieces and sometimes all at once this way. Today was apparently a bits and pieces kind of day.

Ginger strode over to her director’s chair, breathing hard. Hermes followed, running his hands through his hair, and keeping the sweat out of his eyes. They did this before every movie, to get into shape enough to dance for hours on end. It was about a three mile run all the way around RKO and the adjacent Paramount lot. Wanting to take off her shoes, she leaned over to untie them and promptly fainted. 

She hit the floor before Fred, Hermes or Hal could react. In the next moment, though, the three men were at her side, pulling her up. 

Fred yanked her up into his concerned arms. “Ginge, Ginge are you okay?”

The blood flowed back into her head and she opened her eyes to find the three concerned faces hovering over her. 

“Wha.. what happened?” she slurred the words. 

“You fainted,” Hal said, leaving her side to run to the sink and wet a towel.

“Seriously?” Her voice sounded weak in her own ears. 

Hermes and Fred shared a concerned look. Fred settled himself next to her and tucked her under his strong arm while Hermes dashed for the stage phone. Hal returned with a cold wet rehearsal towel and draped it carefully over her neck. 

She felt the bump on her forehead where she’d hit the floor. Fred moved her curls out of the way, and they could all see the angry red mark. 

“The set medic from “The Three Muskateers” is on his way,” Hermes announced.

Ginger frowned. She wasn’t fond of doctors. In fact, she and her mother Lela were Christian Scientists, who generally didn’t use medical professionals. Her profession, however, demanded it and she was unable to refuse. It was more of a thing for her mother than herself, though. She knew that ‘In Person’ immediately following ‘Top Hat’ had left her exhausted and underweight. The thought of not being able to dance in this movie with Fred filled her with terror. She’d see the doctor.

In a moment, he was there. He took her blood pressure and checked her head and listened to her heart. 

“Your blood pressure is through the roof, and I think I’ll recommend that you see your own doctor for more tests.” He helped her to her feet and led her to her directors’ chair.

“Make sure she gets some fluids into her and no more work for today. I’m calling the producers.”

With that, he left the soundstage.

Ginger was near tears. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t feel well, and it was very unusual for her. Usually she could run the four miles from her home to the Studio, work all day and into the night without much ado. Today, she could barely catch her breath. 

“Let’s get you to a doctor and see what’s going on.” 

Moments later, Pandro Berman, their producer, burst through the soundstage door and rushed to their sides. Hermes brought him up to speed and they all helped her into his car. He assured them that he'd call from the doctor's office with news.

********************

Hours later, Fred got the phone call. He, Hal, and Hermes had remained on stage kicking around ideas and waiting for news. 

“I’ve sent her home for a few days, Fred. Doc says it’s exhaustion and she needs to put on at least 10 pounds before filming starts. We need to negotiate a reduced rehearsal schedule.” Pandro explained.

“Okay, anything, as long as she’s alright.” Fred answered. This was probably his fault. He shouldn’t have pushed her so hard on ‘Top Hat’, in addition to all of the other stress they were under with Phyllis’ pregnancy.

Behind him, Hermes and Hal nodded in agreement. They all needed Ginger. They would agree to anything to keep her in the film; another actress taking her place was not to be considered. 

**********************************

At her house, Ginger walked down the staircase, wearing her swimsuit and a towel draped over her arm.

“Excuse me, where do you think you’re going?” Her mother blocked her way, her hands on her hips.

“Swimming?” Ginger held up the towel.

“No. Absolutely not. You go back to your room and change. You’re not swimming or doing anything else. You’re going to sit and read or paint or something else quiet.” Lela pointed back up the stairs. Ginger glared balefully at her mother, but there was no moving her.

With a sulk, Ginger marched back upstairs to change clothes. When she came down a second time, she was in a pink cotton pajamas set and fluffy slippers and headed for the kitchen.

Pulling a carton of ice cream from the ice box, she rummaged around in the drawer for a spoon. Lela followed her.

Lela yanked the carton out of her hands. “And no ice cream.”

“Hey! Why not?”

“Because the doctor says you’re diabetic and need to watch what you eat. No ice cream unless you’re dancing. And you are definitely not dancing today.” Lela was firm. The doctors had been very clear that Ginger’s blood sugar levels had been dangerously high and had contributed to the loss of consciousness. Exercise would usually help with high blood sugar, but she was also severely dehydrated and had lost thirteen pounds during the filming of ‘In Person’ up at Big Bear. She had tipped the scale at a mere 94 pounds. 

Ginger turned and flounced out of the room, her blond curls bouncing in ringlets on her shoulders. 

Lela sighed unhappily. Sometimes her daughter acted younger than her age. Maybe it was in response to having shouldered so much responsibility. After all, the entire RKO studio as a business and the employment of hundreds of people, depended on the success of her movies with Fred, right in the middle of the Great Depression, even as RKO fought to stay out of bankruptcy. Between the pressures of her job and the stress of her secret affair, Lela could see it wearing her dear daughter down. Barely twenty four, it was a lot on her plate.

Lela leaned against the kitchen counter and absently downed the remainder of the ice cream as she worried. Her daughter wasn’t getting paid enough to put up with this. She hated that Fred got all the credit and the publicity for their work, even though Ginger pulled her fair share and then some. She also abhorred the fact that her daughter got paid less than some of the supporting cast – that was wrong, plain and simple. She couldn’t do much against the endemic sexism of the Hollywood studio systems or the contract player system, but she could try.

**************

Studio head Merian Cooper sat at his desk and shuffled papers around. He had a half dozen movies in production and preproduction and right now his best bet, “Follow the Fleet”, was in trouble. It was supposed to shoot beginning on October 31st, and his lead actress was benched. For how long, he wasn’t sure. The doctors said that she could film when she weighed at least 105 and preferably 110 pounds. Merian liked Ginger. He liked her spunk and her surprising dance abilities and considered her the best actress on the lot. In addition, she was a hell of a lot easier to work with than his other rising star, Kate Hepburn. 

His assistant leaned in the doorway. “Merian, call on Line 1.”

He picked up the phone. “Hello?”

His eyebrows rose as he discovered Lela Rogers on the other end. Lela was an surprise asset to the Studio. She ran a workshop for his aspiring actresses at the on-lot theater, and her work with the new girls was indispensable in teaching them the ropes. They’d gotten quite a few quality actresses out of the deal, too. Her main concern, however, as always, was her famous daughter. Merian’s jaw dropped as he listened to Lela’s demands.

“Woah, woah wait a minute here, Lela,” he gasped. “I need some time to think about this.”

On the other end of the line, Lela went to bat for her daughter, who was currently upstairs in her room, pouting and listening to music, loudly.

“Okay, give me a few days to consider. Just get Ginger healthy,” he replied and hung up the phone. 

Damn stage mothers, he thought, then reluctantly changed his tact. Lela would have made one hell of an agent if women were allowed to do the job. He shuddered. He was just happy that they weren’t. As Ginger’s unofficial manager, she was a nightmare when she wanted to be. If she had real power, she’d be a holy terror. He put his head in his hands and thought hard. 

***************************

Thursday, September 19, 1935

Hermes slammed the gossip rag onto the tabletop where they guys were ready to eat. He’d picked up lunch, and the magazine, and returned to Fred and Hal.

On the cover was a photo of Fred and Ginger looking angrily at each other. The headline read, “The Famous Dancing Duo Breaking Up?”

“What a load of bologna,” he groaned. “They’re already saying that Ginger’s left the production because she can’t stand to work with you.”

Fred furiously grabbed the magazine and skimmed down the article. “Those damn rumors that we don’t get along again…I hate it so much. I can’t believe they were so fast on her absence. Damn it all to hell and back.”

He threw it down and Hal picked it up. Snorting in disbelief, he joked, “Ha, if only they knew.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t and that’s the way it has to be,” Hermes replied, glancing up at Hal sharply. “It’s such absolute bullshit.”

Fred blew out the breath he’d been holding in anger. He walked to the piano and banged out an angry tune, a few deep discordant chords.

“She called me last night,” he said, while watching the keys. Beside him, Hal and Hermes perked up. 

“Said she’s working hard on resting and gaining weight and hopes to be back soon. And…,” he paused, “Lela is taking advantage of the situation to wrangle her a bonus and more pay. About damn time.”

Both men nodded in agreement. Ginger’s pay was abysmal compared to Fred’s. She made about a third of what he did, for the same work. It was such a shame. They applauded her mother for her efforts and just hoped that it wouldn’t backfire. 

“They won’t replace her, though,” Fred continued, following their thoughts. While the studio absolutely loved Ginger, they didn’t like it when their actresses brought demands to the negotiating table. “I told them if Ginger goes, so do I. And don’t you dare tell her or Lela that. They’d be angry.”

Hal slapped him on the back. “Nice one, Fred.”

“I hope someday that there’ll be more equality,” Hermes said. Being a gay man in the closet, he knew all about not having equality.

Hal sat down at the piano next to Fred and played out a happier tune. “Well, if Ginger is out for a few more days, let get some work done…”

Fred answered with his own piano licks. He loved playing with Hal at the piano, just fooling around. It was almost as much fun as playing with George. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Hermes?”

Hermes usually danced as Ginger when he and Fred were working out a dance routine. It was another reason for the locked stage that Fred insisted upon. It wasn’t well known that Hermes was gay, but no one wanted to hear rumors that Fred was dancing these romantic dances with another man. He was straight as an arrow, but the rumor mill was vicious, as they were finding out with the rumors of him and Ginger being at odds. 

Bringing their attention back to the dance, the trio continued to work while waiting for Ginger. 

***************************

Lela set the phone back on the receiver and smiled in satisfaction. Merian had been amenable to giving Ginger a raise and a bonus after all. Faced with losing his money-making star, he’d capitulated and given Lela everything she’d asked for. 

“Hey Ginger!” she shouted up the stairs. Fortunately, Lew was not home, having left the day after the party to shoot a movie in New York for a few weeks. He'd left the clean up for his wife. It had been blissfully quiet around the house, and Lela had stayed over last night. 

“What?” came the reply from her daughter’s room at the end of the hallway. Her thumping feet could be heard coming closer. 

“Well, don’t stand there, come down here,” she scolded. Still miffed at not being allowed to work or dance, she was still pouting. “Wait until you hear this!”

She stomped down the stairs and curled up on the couch, less petulantly, and pulled a pillow into her lap. “Okay, what’s the hap?”

Lela couldn’t help grinning, though it was a bit like a shark looking at its prey. “Oh, baby, I got you a raise and a bonus. You’re now making two grand a week PLUS a $10,000 bonus. How do ya like them apples?”

Ginger’s jaw dropped and she forgot all about her petty antagonism towards her mother. 

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope!”

She bounced off the couch and hugged her mother tightly. Why had she ever doubted that Lela had her best interests at heart? “Thank you so much! When can I go back to work?”

Lela sighed. Of course that would be her first sentence.

********************

Friday, September 20, 1935

“Good to see you back!” Charles said as he unlocked the stage door for her, late in the afternoon.

“Good to be back!” Ginger beamed at him. She’d actually been gone for only a few days, it seemed like forever. She slipped inside. The quick tapping and piano music told her the trio were hard at work. 

She paused and quietly watched them from the cracked door to the rehearsal room. Hermes and Fred were dancing together, going over a step repeatedly. In a weird way, it was like watching twins, the two men looked so much alike. Both were the same height, but Hermes outweighed Fred by twenty pounds or so Ginger had watched them once put in the taps in post-production and had nearly fallen out of her seat laughing as Hermes danced in high heels doing her part. Now, she watched them fondly, relieved to be back in her safe little private world.

Fred saw her first. He stopped talking mid-sentence and ran, yanking the door open fully and embraced her hard. 

“Oh, baby, it’s good to see you!” He set her down hastily, like she might break. 

“Hi boys!” She waved as Fred took her hand and led her into the room. Hal and Hermes were equally careful with their hugs. 

With a wave of relief that things were – somewhat – back to normal, whatever that was now, she settled into her director’s chair and they showed her what they were working on. 

It was good to be ‘home’.


	3. The Smiling Lieutenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and Ginger would do anything for a few more months of togetherness before their lives change. However, they almost get caught.
> 
> **************************************
> 
> Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.” But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. - Kahlil Gibran
> 
> ***************************************

“Hot damn, Hermes, look at that,” Fred whispered in awe to his choreographer. 

For the past several days, Fred had worked on his own solo dance, and this was the first he had been invited to see how Ginger’s solo was coming along. She and Hermes had insisted on practicing without him, so that it would be a surprise. Fred trusted them enough to allow that, even though his obsession with perfection nagged at him and he had to force himself to stay away. Hal played out the song on the piano next to them, but all three men only had eyes for the Ginger. 

Her short skirt spun around her shapely legs, and her feet tapped a steady beat as she flew through her solo.

“And to think… she’s only seriously tapped for two years. She’s always had a dancer’s rhythm, but man – she’s quick.” Hermes crossed his arms and nodded in satisfaction. It was his job to teach the dances to Ginger after he and Fred worked them out, but this was her first solo and they’d wanted to surprise Fred with a nearly finished product. 

Fred was surprised – she looked great, and not surprised – he’d known that she could do it. A thrill went up his spine at having the opportunity to teach such an amazing talent. One part of his brain responded professionally, as a dance master, watching her technique and critiquing the product. The other half of his brain was simply stunned at how beautiful she looked on the dance floor. She had told him once that when she was eight and goofing off in a dance hall while her mother worked at a bake sale, a man had approached her mother and asked about her. He was a talent scout for a famous Russian ballet company – and he’d offered to adopt Ginger on the spot, take her to Russia and turn her into a Prima Ballerina. Lela of course had said no, but Fred thought the Russian had an amazing insight into the talent potential in the youngster. It thrilled him that he and Hermes were the ones who were able to bring that talent to the world. 

Ginger finished with a flourish and the three men clapped and cheered. 

“So, what do you think?” she asked, flushed from the dance. She stepped down off the stage, her tap shoes rapping on the soundstage floor.

“Marvelous, simply fantastic, darling,” Fred gushed and tucked her under his arm. “I think it will be a great addition to the film. Your progress is simply phenomenal.”

With a month of shorter rehearsals, more time for sleeping and encouraging her to eat all the time, she’d put on about eight pounds, and was nearly back to her regular weight. She still felt thin to Fred, but she was wiry strong, nonetheless. She complained that she felt like she was eating all the time, but she hadn’t minded when she and Hermes had made a daily ritual of eating ice cream together. 

Fred continued. “I think we’ve made excellent progress, despite the rough start.”

“The doctor said that I can start filming on time,” Ginger replied with a smug smile. She’d been terrified when the production team had to rearrange the shooting schedule to accommodate a later start time for the dances. At this point, most of the movie would be shot first, and the dances would come last. 

Filming would begin next week, on October 31st, a Thursday. The Table Read would be on Monday, and they’d run through the entire script with the full cast. Mark Sandrich would again be directing, and Randolph Scott joining them again as Fred’s characters best buddy. The new cast member would be Harriet Hilliard Nelson, playing Ginger’s characters sister. Both Ginger and Fred were excited to see Randy again. He’d been a co-star on “Roberta” and become a friend. Harriet was new to the movie industry. She’d been in a couple of short films, but this was to be her biggest role to date. Ginger was also happy that her friend Lucy had been given a part in the film as Ginger’s characters friend. It would be her first speaking role. As this would be her and Fred’s fifth film together, most of the crew were back and it would be like old home week next week. Add in the fact that she’d finally gotten a solo dance, and ‘Follow the Fleet’ was looking good.

At the same time, though, things were tense behind the scenes. Now that Ginger knew that Fred’s wife was pregnant, she was dreading seeing her for the first time. 

Tucked under Fred’s arm, all this zipped through her mind in a few moments. 

“Hey, stay with me, honey,” Fred said, noticing her drift into her own thoughts. 

She smiled up at him. “Sorry, just lots on my mind.”

He gave her a squeeze. He had lots on his mind, too, and a lot of it was probably the same issues. “How about we go over the “Eggs” dance for a while?”

Hal struck the opening chords for “I’m Putting All My Eggs in One Basket” and the duo took the stage, while Hermes watched with a critical eye. He watched as they went through the number, perfectly in unison.

*****************************

Lew grumbled one final time as Ginger grabbed his hand and dragged him down the sidewalk. He had reluctantly consented to take her to the biggest Halloween party in Hollywood, and she could not wait to get inside. The cool night breeze blew through the palm trees that lined the sidewalk outside a block of stately homes. It wasn’t Ginger’s famous street, Roxbury Drive, but in a more quiet and secluded part of Beverly Hills a mile away. Nonetheless, the parking issues were the same. They’d had to park two blocks down. Ginger would have walked it, but Lew had flat out refused. All around them, couples dressed as monsters, ghosts, ghouls, and witches of all sorts, plus an odd assortment of princesses, fairies, court jesters and Robin Hoods, laughed and held hands while they walked to the party.  


Coming to the front door, her heart pumped with excitement at the cheer that went up as they entered. Old friends and hangers on and star gazers alike welcomed them. Lew headed immediately to the back of the house, looking for the open bar. Ginger let him go. There was no use in trying to persuade him to avoid the drinks. If it made him happier to be here, then so be it. For the whole summer while she was working her ass off, she’d basically had no time, energy, or inclination to go out socializing. She needed this outlet tonight to blow off steam and stress, and right now, everything seemed stressful. A good party was exactly what she needed.

She needed to figure things out if her relationship with Fred was going to be a long term thing. While it worked well for her emotionally and physically, there was no way to make it work socially. They absolutely could not be seen together outside of work, except for maybe very limited “hello, goodbye” interactions, or publicity events. What it boiled down to was that if she wanted to go out, she either had to take Lew, go alone, or take someone else. She stood in the hallway, looking for someone to talk to when her reverie was broken by a squeal and suddenly, she was tackled from behind.

A flash of platinum blond hair obscured her vision, but she knew it was Lucy. Her taller friend wrapped her arms around her and swung her around. Lucy was dressed up as a witch, with a pointy hat and a blacked out tooth along with the slinky silk black dress, but Ginger would know her smiling face and sparkling blue eyes anywhere.

“Hey girl! I’m so glad you came!” Lucy exclaimed. 

“I wouldn’t miss it. This is the hottest ticket in town tonight. Did you come alone?”

“Nah, I came with some of the other girls from Lela’s acting class. Gotta warn you, though, they are all dying to meet you.”

At that, Ginger smiled. Lela’s acting class was very popular with the up and coming actresses in town, and everyone wanting to break into the business. Part of the draw was that Lela was Ginger’s mother, and they all liked it when Ginger made a rare appearance. It was like royalty coming to visit the commoners. 

“I bet,” she answered, “and they all want a job.”

Now it was Lucy’s turn to laugh guiltily. “Yeah, probably. And they’re jealous of me, too, now that I got the part on your movie. I only have a week or so of work, but there’s a lot of sea-green envy floating around there these days.”

Ginger took her arm and the two young women moved further into the crowd of costumed party-goers. 

“Well, if you want to move up to the big leagues, don’t let it worry you. Get used to it or ignore it. There’s nothing you can do about it. And never feel guilty for your success. You’ve paid your dues and earned it.” At the age of twenty-four and an international screen star, it felt odd still at times to be giving advice like this, but she’d been working since she was fourteen years old. She might be young, but she was a seasoned professional. Her work was her life, to an appalling degree. Maybe someday that would change, but for now, it was what it was.

In short order, a dozen acquaintances had said hello and a small crowd had gathered around her. Lew returned with a beer and shoved his way to her side. No way was he going to miss this photo opportunity to be seen with his famous wife. If he had to be here, he’d make the most of it. She plastered on a smile and took his arm.

Lucy still wanted to talk about work. 

“I haven’t met Harriet yet, what’s she like?”

Lucy had been at the table read last week, same as Ginger, but Harriet had lit out of there immediately upon its completion and neither had the opportunity to talk. Ginger had only met her for a whole five minutes today when she’d come in to meet her hairdresser and makeup artist. 

“I don’t really know, but I’m sure it will be fine. She seems kinda shy.” 

Harriet was new to the film industry, though she’d been in the entertainment industry performing with her new husband, Ozzie, for a year. She’d only had a small part in another film four years ago and had worked on Vaudeville, too, for several years. Ginger wondered how she’d managed to land the part of her on-screen characters’ sister, Connie. Snagging a part in an Astaire-Rogers film was becoming a status thing. Probably she knew someone who knew someone. It frequently worked that way. Regardless, she’d help both her and Lucy out on this film. She kind of liked nurturing the newcomers.

Claudette Colbert and Fay Wray, two actress friends, pushed their way into the small knot.

“Hey girls!” Claudette did the air kissing cheek thing. “Whatcha talking about?”

“Work, of course,” Ginger laughed. 

“Ewe,” she answered, shrugging. “We should do lunch some time! I’m just over at Paramount, working on “The Bride Comes Home”. It’s a bit thin, plot-wise, but who cares, I get to hang out with Robert Young and Fred MacMurray all day. Personally, I think my Fred is way cuter than your Fred.” 

They all had to laugh at that; she had a good point. 

“Oh yeah? But my Fred can dance… can yours?” Beside her, Lew squeezed her arm a little tighter under his and she knew she’d better change the subject. He looked pained and took a sip of his beer to hide his discomfort.

“Well, you got me there.” 

Fay looked to Lucy and stuck out her hand. Lucy took it politely, “Hi, I’m Lucy.”

“Fay. And this here is Claudette.” She hauled her friend closer. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Claudette was holding her glass of something sparkly carefully. “Fay, don’t pull me! Don't spill my drink!”

Fay glanced over to Lew, holding tightly to Ginger’s elbow, and included him in the conversation. “What are you working on, Lew?”

He perked up at the opportunity to talk about himself instead of his famous wife. He unhooked his arms from hers so that he could gesture. He went on and on about “Lottery Lover” until Claudette and Fay looked like they were sorry that they’d asked. 

Beside him, Ginger could barely stand still. She crackled with wild energy. Today had been the first day of filming, but it had only lasted a few hours. They’d shot two scenes, and done some publicity work, but it had been a light day. Mark Sandrich was again directing, so it was all very familiar and comfortable. Most of the crew was back, as well, and that just made everything move like clockwork. So much so, that they’d whipped through the small scenes and everyone had time to go home and do whatever they were doing for Halloween. Since it was Thursday, it would be short week, too, unless Fred wanted to rehearse more on the weekends. 

Lucy looked a little bit in awe at the company she was suddenly keeping but was doing her best to appear nonchalant. She quietly sipped her glass of sparkling water and observed the famous actresses. Ginger was sure she was taking internal notes on how they stood, gestured, and wore their clothing. 

Beside her, being five inches taller, Lucy suddenly whispered in her ear. “Fred’s here.”

She nodded and suddenly she was hyper aware of everything around her. The other three women continued the conversation, and she surreptitiously looked for her dance partner. She smiled and laughed at the appropriate times, but it felt like time had slowed down.

She could feel and hear the ripple that went through the crowd as they acknowledged Fred… and Phyllis. Laughing out loud at something Fay said, she watched in her peripheral vision. A hot flutter slid down into her stomach as Fred’s head turned quickly in her direction and just as quickly stopped. She knew without question that he knew exactly where she was. Hours of dancing together had given them an almost surreal understanding of each other’s location. 

Finally wrapping up his encyclopedic discussion of his film, Lew chugged the rest of his beer and frowned as the two women redirected the conversation away from him. Harrumphing next to her, he leaned in, “I’m getting another drink.”

She shrugged and turned away from him, towards Lucy. With a pat to her butt, he strode off into the crowd looking for more alcohol and another, more appreciative audience. 

Claudette twirled her brunette curls in her finger and nodded in the direction of his retreating back. “He’s nice, but my god, can he talk. Not a bad ping pong player, though.”

Claudette referred to a party Ginger had thrown last year, the crowning event being a cutthroat ping pong tournament. Since Ginger didn’t drink, nor serve alcohol at her parties, they were an unusual novelty event in the Hollywood world. Unwilling to say anything negative about her husband in public, she just smiled enigmatically. 

Behind Fay, Fred bumped into her slightly, as if it were an accident. He turned and apologized to her and caught Ginger’s eye. She knew it was no accident, but his way of entering the conversation without appearing to have sought her out. 

“Sorry about that,” he said and smiled winningly at Fay. With his arm linked with Phyllis’, they nosed into the group of women.

“Hiya, Ginge,” he said to his dance partner. He was dressed up as the Smiling Lieutenant from the film of the same name of 1931, and suddenly it was hilarious, since Claudette had been the star of that film playing the main character Franzi, along with Maurice Chevalier. Ginger instantly found the choice intriguing, since it was the story of a man cheating on his accidental wife with his true love. In a flash, she wondered if Fred coded things just to secretly amuse himself. Beside him, Phyllis was showing a lot of skin in a skimpy clockwork robot costume that showed off just how tiny she was. 

“Hi, Fred! Phyllis, nice to see you,” Ginger deliberately oozed charm. 

The group all said their hellos.

Ginger took the offensive. Might as well get this over with in a social setting instead of on her soundstage. She was an actress and by god, she could do this. She swallowed her instinctive envy. “So, I hear congratulations are in order?”

Phyllis’s mouth smiled but the sharp look she gave Ginger could have cut glass. “Why yes, thank you.”

“Oh, are you pregnant?” Claudette gushed, delighted with the whole subject. 

Phyllis looked uncomfortable in the presence of all the famous actresses and Ginger suppressed her delight. Fay had come off of the uber-success of “King Kong” and Claudette had just won her Academy Award for “It Happened One Night.” It was prestigious company. Now that Ginger got a good look at her, though, she never would have guessed that Phyllis was pregnant. She was tiny and not showing at all. She didn’t doubt her dance partner, but she eyed his wife up and down, squinting as if she didn’t quite believe it anyway.

“How far along?” Fay inquired. She didn’t have any children of her own yet, but she definitely wanted them someday.

“Nearly six months,” Phyllis replied. Fred looked like he wanted to jump into the conversation but didn’t dare. His eyes were round looking from woman to woman and back to Phyllis. However, since everyone was supremely polite, he had nothing to object to.

‘No. Way.” Claudette put her hands over her mouth in shock. It simply did not look likely that this woman would be giving birth in three months. If she even had a baby bump, it was cinched in under her costume belt.

There was an awkward silence. 

“Well, congratulations,” Ginger said with a sickly sweet smile.

“Well, we’d better be going. Lots of people to talk to.” Phyllis inched away from the group and Fred swung her around. 

He nodded politely to the women and winked at Ginger as soon as Phyllis’ back was turned.

As soon as the twosome had reached the other side of the room, the ladies huddled around Ginger.

“That’s his wife?” Claudette whispered. “Um, I’ve seen your movies. The way he looks at you, I thought you had something going on…”

Ginger gritted her teeth in a frozen smile that she hoped looked sincere. “Nope.”

Fay and Claudette looked disappointed. Soon, Phyllis Astaire was forgotten, and the ladies turned to other topics of conversation. 

“Will you excuse me, girls? I’m gonna go look for Lew.” 

“I need another drink,” Fay said, and her friend nodded in agreement. The two famous actresses went to find more booze and a clutch of would-be suitors descended on them.

The four split up, though Lucy stayed with Ginger. 

“Hmmm, well that wasn’t awkward at all,” Lucy whispered and bumped her with her elbow. 

“Oh my god, that was uncomfortable,” Ginger whispered back. They walked out to the back patio into the night. The cool October air was refreshing after the crowded house. The open bar was set up outside, serving both alcohol and other drinks. Lew was nowhere in sight. 

Grabbing two sodas, the two wandered back into the crowd, with Ginger saying hello and chatting with everyone that she knew. She stood on the bottom stair to get a better look at the crowd. Being five foot four had its disadvantages. She caught sight of Fred’s head in the crowd and kept her eyes moving, never settling anywhere too long. Fred must have felt her eyes on the back of his head, because after a moment he turned and looked right at her across the room.

His eyes slid up the stairs and back to her.

Ginger caught her breath. Surely, he couldn’t have meant what he just did. Again, his eyes caught hers, slid upstairs and back. He quirked a grin in her direction, raised his eyebrows and seamlessly entered back into his own circle of conversation. Ginger made a snap decision.

“Lucy, I need a distraction. Can you help me out?”

Having caught the byplay, Lucy sighed. “You know, I need to find my own guy and play these games.”

“Well, there’s plenty here! Go hunting,” she laughed. “I’ll find you in a bit.”

Lucy slid into the crowd and approached a group of well-dressed young men. Showing an unexpected flair for physical comedy, she suddenly twisted her ankle, slumping conveniently into the best dressed man in the group. He looked surprised at finding a statuesque platinum blond model with cerulean blue eyes in his arms, but he didn’t seem too put out. Ginger could hear the concern run through the room, and she took the opportunity to slip up the stairs. 

The hallway was dark. If the lights had once been on, the various couples in nooks and crannies had turned them off. She grinned to herself, remembering a party and dark corners with Fred at a party thrown by George Gershwin years before. She recognized Fred’s light steps coming up the stairs behind her and would bet her life that he would recognize her slim form in the shadowy hallway as she slipped into the fortunately unoccupied bathroom. She closed the door behind her. Moments later, Fred entered quickly and locked the door behind him. 

He wrapped his hands in her hair and planted a hard kiss on her, completely taking her breath away. 

“You know we could get caught here,” she whispered, gasping, as he picked her up and put her on the countertop. His warm hands pushed at her skirt, moving the fabric up to her waist. She leaned back and elevated her hips so that he could yank down her panties. She could hear him fumbling with the silk tie that he used as a belt as she ran her hands over his shoulders and leaned in to suck on his collarbone. 

“I know, and I don’t care.”

She thought that maybe one of them should care but then she heard the swish of fabric as his pants dropped to the floor. His warm hands were on her butt as he pulled her hips towards him. Leaning back again, she wrapped her legs around him.

A hard knock on the door startled them both. “Hey, I need the john bad! Whomever is in there, I gotta take a crap and I’m not kidding!”

They froze. 

“Oh hell,” Fred cursed. He yanked Ginger off the counter. They fumbled in the dark for her underwear and worked on pulling on their clothing. “Christ on a cracker, this is awkward.”

Ginger growled. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Panic fluttered in her chest. 

“Okay, keep your head down and at the bottom of the staircase, go left and I’ll go right. Don’t look at me,” Fred instructed, his voice strained and high. Quickly exiting the bathroom, the desperate man shoved past them. Walking quickly down the hallway, Fred went first and turned right. 

Immediately after she exited the bathroom, a tall man grabbed her arm and spun her around. Startled, she looked up into the smiling face of Cary Grant. He crowded her into the wall and leaned down to whisper to her.

“Stay between me and the wall, and follow right behind me, as close as possible. When we get to the bottom of the stairs, turn immediately left and Randy will be there.”

She nodded her understanding, though she was a bit confused. When she reached the floor, she turned immediately, and another big man spun her around. Cary blocked them in and walked away after counting to ten.

Randy Scott, her costar on “Roberta” and now on “Follow the Fleet”, smiled down at her and shoved a drink into her hand. “Smile at me,” he hissed. “You’ve been here talking shop with me for a while now.”  
Beyond Randy, she could hear Lew speaking loudly. To her horror, it appeared that he was speaking to Fred.

“Have you seen my wife?” Peaking around Randy, she could see Lew, slightly drunk, up in Fred’s face. Fred look flustered.

With a twinkle in his eye, Randy suddenly spun around. “Heya Lew, where you been, buddy? We’re talking shop over here. Come join us!” 

Suddenly Cary was on the other side of her again, and the two men were all smiles as they gestured Lew to join the group. Sullenly, he looked away from Fred, who took that opportunity to escape back into the crowd. She sipped the soda and smiled at her husband. He had met Randy before, when his wife shot “Roberta” and he shook hands with him, and then he introduced him to Cary. Ginger hadn’t really met Cary before, but she knew who he was. She hoped someday that she’d get to work with him. Right now, she suspected that these two had just saved her from a very awkward situation. 

Lew and Randy went off arm in arm to be introduced to more people in the room. Cary leaned over to Ginger. “Hi, I’m Cary.”

She didn’t shake his hand, since they were pretending that they already knew one another. “Hi, I’m Ginger, and I think I’m in your debt.”

Cary’s dark eyes twinkled at her over the top of his drink. He said, “I think so, too, and I might hold you to that some time. You two will have to be sneakier than that.”

Ginger was appalled that it seemed like Cary knew her business with Fred. He winked at her and moved off into the crowd. An admiring group seemed to instantly coalesce around him and the whole troupe moved in a wave through the room. 

Suddenly Lucy was back at her side. “Oh my god was that Cary Grant? And you didn’t introduce me?”

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her soda and used it as cover to look around the room as the exhilaration eased. Across the room, suddenly the crowd moved just right, and Fred was looking right at her. He tipped his drink to her in a microscopic movement and turned in conversation to the people at his elbow again. 

Ginger blew out a breath. It had been a close call. 

“Come on, let’s follow him and you can introduce me.” Lucy wasn’t giving up on getting to meet Cary Grant. 

Ginger laughed, and her nerves settled. “Sure, let’s go find them. Lew’s probably hanging around them, too.”

Lucy linked her arm in Ginger’s, and they moved through the crowd.

************************

Randy stood six foot two in his stocking feet and shoes added another inch. As he stood on the edge of a set, adding another foot, he could look over the top of the groups of people on the soundstage with ease. He was looking for one person in particular. Fred was five nine and tended to get lost in large groups, though he could usually be found at the center of a crowd of respectful hangers-on. He leaned against the set piece and scanned the crowd.

A small warm hand slipped in to his. He turned in surprise to find Ginger at his elbow.

“Well, hi there, princess,” he said and stepped down to the floor. Her sapphire blue eyes sparkled at him and he thought that it was going to be a very nice movie getting to gaze into them again for a couple of months. They moved into a more private, empty bit of sound stage.

“I think we owe you some thanks,” she said quietly. Leaning against the set wall, she picked at the hangnail on her finger. She’d have to get a manicure before filming began.

Randy shrugged. “Oh well, you know. Gotta look out for one another.”

Ginger nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you have my gratitude. Getting caught would have been awkward.”

It was the day after the party, November 1st, and now that they exhilaration was over, she wondered what on earth she and Fred had been thinking. Getting caught in a compromising situation right now would have catastrophic consequences. 

“So, Cary was quite taken with you,” he continued, nodding in agreement. 

Ginger cast back to the night before and Cary’s warm brown eyes and pleasant features danced before her eyes. “He’s a lovely man. Please thank him for me.”

“Oh, well you should thank him yourself some time. You and Fred should come over for movies at our house. We have our own theater, you know, in the basement.”

Suddenly things clicked together in Ginger’s mind. “Oh, are you… together?”

Randy let loose a hearty laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart, haven’t you heard the rumors?”

Now that she thought about it, she had heard rumors. She’d simply dismissed them. Randy didn’t seem the type. He was tall and masculine, and all the girls swooned over him. It simply hadn’t crossed her mind that he could be gay or bisexual. Nor Cary, though she had heard rumors about him, too. She’d thought they were probably just malicious gossip. She hadn’t known that they actually lived together or that there was truth to the hearsay. 

“Oh! How come I’ve known you for a year and I’m just now learning this?”

“Well, pay attention sweetheart, but we know a thing or two about discretion.” He smiled down at her, but she could see the hint of sadness in his eyes. “And you’d better get sharp real quick, or you’ll be courting trouble.”

She let her own sadness creep into her eyes, and she nodded, then looked at the floor. Hermes had told her much the same thing numerous times over the past year.

His gentle finger under her chin made her look up. “Hey. We look out for one another. You’re not alone.”

With that, he gave her a jaunty salute and moved off into the more crowded areas of the soundstage, still looking for Fred. 

************************

Fred exited his dressing room where they’d been fixing his hair piece down again and ran smack into Randy Scott’s solid chest. 

“Ouch,” he said, immediately putting his hand to his hairpiece and making sure it was still on. Fortunately, it seemed to be all in one piece. “Oh, hi.”

Randy hadn’t budged an inch from the impact. He stuck out a beefy hand to steady the smaller man. “Woah, there partner. Take it easy.”

Fred shrugged down his shirt and gestured for Randy to follow him. “I was just going to set; I could really use a cup of coffee. I usually don’t drink while I’m working but I had one too many last night.”

“Oh, is that the excuse?” 

Fred looked at him sharply and turned around immediately. The hairdresser was just leaving his dressing room and he caught her before she locked the door. “Oh, wait a minute! Thanks.”

He gestured Randy into the room. Randy shut the door behind them and leaned on it. 

“What do you mean?” Fred asked, his face conveying only polite inquiry, though his heart thumped in his chest.

Randy crossed his arms. “You know, Cary and I saw you and Ginger head up the stairs. And we also saw Lew basically right in front of you. Cary saved Ginger from a very embarrassing situation with his quick thinking. You two have got to be more careful.”

Fred’s eyes bugged out slightly. He hadn’t seen Ginger yet this morning, nor heard her side of things. This was news to him.

“Son of a bitch,” he said and sat down hard on the arm of his couch. He decided to come clean, since Randy obviously already knew their situation. “I didn’t know Lew was right there. I was too busy ditching Phyllis.”

“Yeah, well, you almost got caught.”

Fred went quiet for a long moment.

“Maybe a part of me wants to get caught.”

Randy gaped at him. While he could understand the temptation to be honest, the consequences were too big to disregard.

“No, Fred.” He shook his head but refused to let his compassion for their predicament change his advice. “You can’t do that. Not ever.”

Fred slid off the arm to land in a full sprawl on the couch. His long arms and lets draped over the sides and he stared at the ceiling. He sighed and he closed his eyes. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, stop thinking with your dick and use your head for a change.”

Not used to being spoken to in such a straightforward manner, Fred startled and glanced over at him. Unfortunately, it was exactly what he’d been doing. A strangled laugh burst forth. 

“And if you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for Ginger.”

Fred sat up. Unconsciously being careful not to loosen his wig, he ran his hands over his head, and nodded in agreement. The lump in his throat precluded speech. Getting himself into hot water was one thing, but he’d never consciously do that to his lover.

Randy had already made the offer to Ginger a few minutes ago, but he tossed it out to Fred, too. 

“If you two want to come over and watch movies with Cary and I, the door is always open.”

The idea of getting to socialize with Ginger in a private setting, doing normal couple-type things, had great appeal. If he was going to live this double-life, he’d better get with the program and figure some things out. Maybe other film industry folks in similar situations could help them out. Fred pushed himself to his feet and squeezed his friend on the arm before reaching past him to open the door.

“We just might take you up on that. Thanks, Randy.”

With a lighter step, Fred walked back down the hallway and through the doors to the soundstage. Randy watched him go. He adored both of them and vowed to himself to help them however he could.


	4. A Roaming Romeo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred is being pulled in two directions - between his wife and the love of his life - and things are coming to a head. Ginger is on a downward spiral into despair, as the old truism "the only constant is change" is proven right once again. 
> 
> **************************
> 
> “Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children.” - Kahlil Gibran
> 
> ***************************

Fred slipped his personal key into the lock on the soundstage that held the rehearsal room and stepped inside. As he suspected, a set of overhead lights were on, partially illuminating the cavernous soundstage, and a bright crack of golden light shone under the rehearsal room door off to the left. 

Randy followed behind, their footsteps echoing in the large space. He’d never been to the rehearsal room before, and curiosity ate at him. He wanted to get Fred and Ginger in one place and ask them what in the world they were thinking, trying to sneak away at the party. He and Cary had laughed later that night about the folly of new love, but really, if they were to be discovered, there would be hell to pay. He felt duty bound to have his say.

Fred opened the door and the two men walked inside the brightly lit room. 

Startled, Ginger looked up. She sat cross-legged on the edge of the hardwood dancing floor with its eight foot tall mirrors all around and it’s barre on one side. Her script was open and a hot mug of peppermint tea sat next to it, steaming slightly.

Randy walked ahead of Fred and tossed his hat onto one of the chairs. He set his hands on his hips and scolded, “You two are the worst! I can't believe that you almost got caught the other day!”

He froze as he realized that there was someone else in the room. His eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open. Out of sight from the door, Lucy stood at the kitchenette stove heating more hot water in the tea kettle, and looked up at the interruption.

Randy immediately tried to change the subject. He stumbled through his words. “That dance, uh, the other day….”

Ginger watched him awkwardly backpedal for a moment, then took pity on him. “Lucy knows about me and Fred. And she was at the party the other night, too.”

He mimed wiping his brow in relief.

“Geez, sorry about that. I almost blew it there myself. And I knew I recognized you, Lucy.”

Lucy looked pleased as punch to be included in this exclusive group. 

Fred patted Ginger’s arm as his hello, on the way to the sink to get a glass of water for himself. Lucy joined Ginger where they had their scripts open, and folded her long legs under her. They’d been running lines together. This movie would give Lucy her first speaking part in a film and she was nervous.

Randy threw himself down on the raised dance floor next to the two women. “You two need to be more careful. Gee whiz, you’re gonna get caught if you do stupid things like that.”

Fred caught Ginger’s eye as he leaned against the kitchenette counter. It had indeed been a close call. It had also been quite a thrill. He tried to suppress it, but the edges of his mouth twitched into a grin. He hastily slurped at his water glass. 

She caught the grin, and it made her lips curve in return. She looked over at Lucy, but her friend was looking at her in disbelief and had crossed her arms in front of her, a mirror image of Randy on her other side. She hastily tamped down the grin, but the damage was done. She caught Fred’s eye again and he choked on his water. Coughing and spluttering, he tried to hide his mirth.

Randy scrubbed at his face, then glared at both of them in turn.

He set his empty glass on the counter and tried to submerge the giggles that wanted to escape. She looked at the ceiling – at anywhere but Fred. It had been fun. It would have been more fun if they’d gotten to finish what they started, but the escapade had been electrifying. 

“You’re not the least bit repentant, are you?”

Fred flashed him a lopsided smile. “Not really.”

Ginger shook her head, too, and shrugged with both hands.

Randy threw a rehearsal towel at him. “You two are terrible, you know that? Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Ginger laughed outright. “You’re probably right. I promise that we’ll be more careful next time.”

Randy and Lucy could only groan at that comment. “Why does there have to be a next time?”

To that, the duo just laughed. Lucy smacked Ginger on the back of the head, and Randy closed his eyes and shook his head in dismay. Together, they all traipsed back to the main shooting stage and prepared for the day. 

As they went to their chairs, Fred held Ginger back for a moment. “Maybe we can sneak off later…”

She savored the adrenaline surge his words caused. “You’re on.”

******************

“I really like this dance,” Fred said to Ginger as they prepared to do the “I’m Putting All My Eggs in One Basket” song and dance routine. He sat down on the piano bench on the deck of the “ship” and made sure that his shoes were tied tightly.

“Oh? How so?” Ginger replied as she straightened the bandana around her neck and stood quietly next to him. She reached out and adjusted the sailor hat on his head, too.

Hal leaned over the top of the piano, and the band chattered quietly behind them all. “It’s such a different thing than your other dances.”

“Exactly.” Fred pointed at the piano player. He’d be doing the music live for their dance, but they’d probably have to loop it in during post-production anyway. 

“And you’re not dressed in a damn tuxedo,” Hermes put in. He had walked up in the middle of the conversation. 

“Just a couple of regular people, that’s us,” Ginger laughed. Yeah, right.

She hoped the movie would sell it and the audience would buy it. It would be something new, and after five films in short order, creating something new was becoming more difficult. Fred worried that people were getting tired of them. She hoped that the next two movies on their contract came up with novelties to keep the audience engaged. 

Finally, Mark Sandrich called the set to order and they got down to business. 

“I’m going to have to slap Irving next time I see him though,” Fred whispered to her as they took their places at the piano. He cracked his knuckles and stretched his fingers before his piano solo. “This damn song gets stuck in my brain.”

It was true. Irving had outdone himself again on the music for this film. It was catchy… though the lyrics were… a bit uncomfortable occasionally, a little too on the nose. 

“All right, let’s get this done,” Sandrich yelled. The camera and sound crew did a check and declared themselves ready.

Fred took his spot on the piano bench and lit a cigarette. After a few puffs, Ginger reached over and plucked it out of his mouth. Taking a good drag, she handed it back and walked out of frame, blowing smoke that drifted behind her. Fred stuck the cig back in his mouth and tasted her lipstick. He steeled himself to avoid the temptation to watch her walk away and placed his fingers carefully on the piano keys instead.

Hal winked at him from over the top of the upright piano. He was an extra today, and would be playing live for their duet. Right now, however, he got to watch Fred play, which was always delightful. He was a natural. In rehearsals for this scene, they’d spent hours knocking it about and changing it up. Now, though, Fred stretched his fingers and puffed on his cigarette. He thought somehow that it made his voice huskier. It didn’t, but he didn’t believe Hal or anyone else when they told him so. As Fred hit the opening keys, Hal kept the beat just out of camera range.

They ended up having to do the scene three times, to have some options in editing. Hal couldn’t hear any difference between the three plays, so he assumed that Fred had changed up an expression or something different on each take. As they’d said in “Roberta”, it was “feelthy piano playing” and Fred was extremely good at it.

Next, they cut to the small scene of the band making their screechy, mocking entrance and then it was Ginger’s scene with Fred. She waited patiently behind the camera, marveling at Fred’s playing and watching his long finger tickle the ivories. He had such talented hands. It wasn’t only piano playing at which he excelled, though. The memories made her blush and she hoped Hermes wouldn’t notice, since he was the only one in the know who was nearby.

As the cameras prepped and she took her place on the seat on set, she bit her lip against the annoyance. Once again, Mark had her with her back to the camera so that he could focus on Fred’s face. She didn’t know why he did that; he’d never explained why he didn’t put them both facing the camera. She tamped down on the automatic frustration and mindfully relaxed as the music began and Fred prepared to sing to her. He was in good spirits today. Any day they got to spend dancing together was a good day. However, with her back to the camera, she could make lovey-dovey eyes at him and try to make him crack up and no one would be the wiser.

During this song, however, she was having a hard time keeping a straight face because of how goofy Fred looked in his sailor suit casual dress. Every time she saw him in it, she couldn’t help the giggles, though she tried to, so she didn’t hurt his feelings. Picturing Fred as a “wandering Romeo, whose Juliets have been many” was absurd. As far as she knew, though he was 36 years old, it had only ever been a few casual relationships, her, and Phyllis, due to his shyness. The idea of Fred catting around was humorous. 

They did the song three times to be sure that they had enough for the editors to work with. She was relieved when it was finally time to dance and was pretty sure Fred felt the same. A whole lot of silliness crept into the dance as Ginger’s character got stuck time and again on the steps, and Fred snapped her out of it. They twirled and swung across the stage. Her favorite part was when she got to pretend that her arm was injured… and the other arm was a lever. It was pure Vaudevillian goofiness. And of course, she got to smack Fred on the shoulder – hard – and pretend to fight. This dance was so different than anything they’d done before, she hoped that the audiences would love it. Rehearsals had been fun.

She was thrilled with this dance, but there was one thing she wasn’t looking forward to – the fall. Ginger had a philosophy that didn’t allow her to do anything halfway. She wouldn’t do the fall halfway, either. They’d practiced it twice in rehearsals, so as not to hurt her too much or to risk injury, once when they’d first learned the dance week ago, and once yesterday at rehearsals. She hoped fervently that Sandrich wouldn’t torture her today with take after take. 

She was right to be worried. Sandrich made them do the dance – and the fall – six times. Six times, Fred let Ginger slip through his fingers and hit the floor hard as the music changed and he “missed catching” his partner. From the stage, she could see Hermes standing at Mark’s right, whispering in his ear, lobbying for each shot to be the last. Each fall jarred her entire body, and she knew she’d have a huge bruise on her hip by tomorrow. Each crash to the hard floor was one more opportunity for her to really get hurt. Each time, Sandrich shrugged it off and made them go again.

The finished the dance the sixth time, and she had to turn around and walk it off. A sharp sliver of pain jabbed through her hip and she had to pause and breathe through it. She rubbed her hip and hoped that the next one would be the last.

Fred, watching her, had had enough. He recalled his earlier discussion with Hermes, about how Ginger never complained even when she should, and decided abruptly that Mark had enough film.

“We’re using one of those takes, Mark,” Fred commanded quietly, as he sidled up to the monitor where Sandrich was watching. Mark looked at him in surprise. “No more. She’d giving it her all, like she always does, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Sandrich glared at him. Beside him, Hermes moved slightly to Fred’s side, giving his support. The two men stared down the director.

“Fine,” he grumbled, capitulating. Speaking loudly to the camera crew, he called, “Check the gate and that’s it.”

Fred didn’t miss the relieved sigh that went around the set. No one there had liked seeing Ginger hit the floor again and again either. 

“Alright, an hour for lunch!” With an angry set to his shoulders, Sandrich stomped off the set to his office. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially by Fred, whom he adored. Sometimes Fred wondered if the director had a crush on him. He certainly doted on him while treating Ginger with less than equal concern.

Hermes and Fred immediately strode over to Ginger, who was carefully stretching. 

“Hey, lunch break,” Fred took her by the elbow. 

Together the three slowly headed for Ginger’s dressing room. Hermes grabbed a passing Production Assistant who had stayed to watch the dancing. “Go grab me some ice in a bag and a towel, please.”  


“Inside the room, Ginger hissed in pain as Fred helped her slide off her pants. A large ugly red spot showed the incipient bruise in full, covering her entire right hip. Setting her on the couch, Fred found a light blanket with which to cover her up. Hermes answered the door when the PA returned with surprising speed with ice. She hadn’t liked seeing Ginger's safety neglected, either. The two young women were the same age, though one was the top of the food chain and the other, the bottom. Compassion wasn’t confined to Set Medics or dance partners.

“Could you possibly find a hot water bottle next? We’d be thankful.” The PA took off on her mission with renewed zeal.

Fred set the bag of ice gently on his dance partner’s hip. Her relieved sigh spoke volumes. 

“How’re you doing, baby?” he asked, rearranging the blanket around her.

She smiled gamely at him. “I’ll be fine now. Thank you for the ice, it feels nice.” 

Her glance took in Hermes, too. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Hermes replied. He had a flash of inspiration, “Don’t you have an aloe vera plant in your other window? I’ve heard that can reduce pain and swelling, too.”  


“He rushed to see. Sure enough, he returned moments later with a chunk of the plant. Ginger pulled down the blanket and revealed the contusion. Examining it closely now, they could all see the blood vessels snaking out from the scarlet bruise area where the blood had pooled. 

Suddenly Hermes snorted and held up the little green chunk to the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

“What’s so funny?” Ginger asked. 

“Remember in ‘Flying Down to Rio’, when you had that horrible sunburn? And we had to slather you with aloe vera then? You two owe a lot to this little plant here.”

Now it was Ginger and Fred’s turn to laugh. The first time, she’d asked Hermes to slather her whole sunburned body with the cooling aloe juice. When she’d needed a second coat later, Hermes had gone out for the evening, and Fred had offered to apply it. They’d tried so hard to stay away from each other, but it hadn’t worked. His gentle, cool fingers sliding over her sunburned skin had been too much and had led to a night of passionate sex. Both knew at that point that their love still lingered, and eventually they’d rekindled their relationship. 

With a wicked grin, Fred knelt beside her and with gentle fingers, applied the gel all over her hip and butt cheek just as carefully as the first time. “Hmmm… I may have to write a song called “An Ode to Aloe” now.”

Hermes got the door as the quick PA returned with a hot water bottle and all three thanked her profusely. Shutting the door, Hermes took the rubber bottle to the kitchenette to heat water on the small stove.

Before returning the ice pack to her, Fred leaned down and gently planted a kiss on her injured hip. Hermes returned at just that moment.

“Ah geez, can’t you two wait until I’m not here?” he put his hands on his hips. 

“Hermes, are you mad?” Ginger teased him gently. “It’s your fault. If you’d been around to apply the aloe in Rio de Janiero, maybe none of this would have happened.”

They all knew that was a lie, but it was humorous to consider. Fred continued, “Ah, don’t be mad, Hermes, or we’ll hug you.” 

“No, you wouldn’t dare. She’s injured, Fred!”

With a sharp tackle, he crashed into his choreographer and they fell on top of Ginger on the couch. She yelped in pain and Hermes howled with indignation. Fred cackled with delight.

“Get off! Get off!” Ginger squealed, but she was laughing, too. Reluctantly, Fred stood up and hauled Hermes to his feet and shoved him to the side playfully. Ginger rearranged the ice and the blanket.

“You two are the absolute worst!” Her blue eyes went from one to the other. “You’re two big dopes. Annoying, inconsiderate dopes. Go find me ice cream as punishment.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Hermes pouted, but he left to get the confection anyway. 

As soon as he was gone, Fred smiled mischievously at his dance partner. “I love doing that. It makes him so mad.”

Ginger couldn’t remain angry at him, even though her hip throbbed. It was always fun to torment Hermes with affection. In the kitchen, the kettle reached a boil and Fred hurried over to take it off the heat. In a moment he returned with the hot water bottle, carefully wrapped in a couple of kitchen dish towels. 

“Here, let’s alternate these two,” he said, set the rubber bottle on her hip, and took the ice to the freezer.

Returning quickly and setting himself next to her on the floor, he gazed at her. She was such a trooper. “You know, you are so wonderful.”

Ginger cracked a smile. She loved it when he stared at her like a love-sick puppy. “And you’re a sap.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He leaned up and kissed her nose. He leaned against the couch and set his head down beside hers. A comfortable silence settled around them. The full morning of dancing and singing had made them both tired and the quiet dressing room was peaceful. 

"I'm super sorry that I choreographed that move. I won't ever do that again. I don't know what I was thinking," Fred said remorsefully. 

"Well, at least it will look good in the movie! It's sure to get laughs," she answered. "And I forgive you."

"Thanks." He looked relieved. 

“How’s things at home?” Ginger questioned eventually. With abundant evidence of his caring, she could ask that now.

“Oh, okay, I guess. Been kinda quite since the party. Phyllis didn’t notice anything and had a nice time.”

She wouldn’t have had a good time if Fred and Ginger had gotten caught by Lew having sex in the bathroom. But it hadn’t happened, so it didn’t count, so she didn’t worry about it another second.

“How’s she doing?” Even while resenting her, and wishing their roles were reversed, she wouldn’t wish for bad things on her, at least pregnancy-related things.

Fred sighed and ran his fingers lightly over her hip and the hot water bottle. “Fine, I guess. She says she’s going to take a childbirth class at the hospital – it’s required or something – and that I have to be in the Waiting Room when she has the baby. Not sure how I feel about that.”

That made sense. Ginger watched the play of emotions across Fred’s expressive face. Discomfort, hope, apprehension, and yearning all raced in turn. She knew this was harder on him than it could ever be on her. She wasn’t the one who had to juggle the relationships. Lew was emotionally checked out of their marriage, and the love was draining from their marriage daily. She only had one love now. He had two, and probably soon to be three. She desperately hoped that she would not lose that one love.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” she said and pushed an errant lock of hair back in place on his forehead. She didn’t know if it was his real hair or the piece and she didn’t care. It was all part of the illusion. Maybe their lives were like that, too, a combination of truth and illusion. 

“Yeah, probably,” he replied. No matter what anyone said, he was going to worry anyway about everything. The pregnancy seemed to be going well, as far as he knew anything about such things. Or at least, Phyllis rarely complained. After the party, though, she’d ordered a whole bunch of maternity dresses, which amused him. She’d been so insulted that no one could tell that she was pregnant.

“I wonder if he’ll look like you?” 

Fred jerked his head up to look at her. The idea had never occurred to him before. “Well, gee, I don’t know! I guess we’ll have to wait and see. I suppose he’ll be bald and dopey looking at first, just like me.”

She didn’t correct him, just to irk him. Now a thought occurred to her in turn. “Will I ever get to see him… or her?”

“Ow, wow.” He wasn’t sure how that would work. An image of Ginger holding his baby knocked the wind out of him, and agony followed, that they would never have anything like this together. His eyes watered and he looked at the floor, suddenly afraid to look at her. He blinked rapidly to get rid of the wetness, lest she see it in his eyes. Banishing the desperation and plastering a fake smile on his face, he answered, “I’m sure we can find a way, if that’s what you want.”

“I mean, after all, it’s not the baby’s fault that he’s here,” she went on, “He doesn’t have a choice one way or the other, and babies can be cute, when they’re not wet or stinky.”

She tactfully ignored the moisture in Fred’s eyes. She’d cried into her pillow often enough that now she just wanted to be able to talk about it without breaking apart. It was going to be a big part of Fred’s life and wasn’t something that she could ignore. “Though I might nickname him “Nail”.

Fred thought about it for a moment, but was stumped. “Why ‘nail’?”

“You know, nail in the coffin? Nail in the coffin of our chances of marriage?” She said it lightly, but Fred knew she was in deadly earnest, and had probably thought about it a lot. So had he.

“Ouch.” He didn’t mean to sound flip. He meant quite literally that her statement hurt. His heart ached that he could never marry her now, and he’d spent his own restless nights running the whole thing over and over in his mind. He needed another moment to compose himself, so he took the hot water bottle from her carefully and retreated to the kitchen. Returning moments later, he carefully replaced the ice on her hip.

“Oh, god, that’s cold!” she winced. She grabbed his hand before he could remove it from the ice pack. “No matter what happens, Fred, you know that I love you, right?” 

His throat closed around any words he might say. He nodded. He lifted his mournful hazel eyes to her blues. 

A loud knock on the door startled them. 

“Hey, ice cream!” Hermes was back, and he didn’t walk in unannounced anymore. He’d walked in on them once in a compromising position and had no desire to repeat the experience.

The tension broken between them, Fred shouted, “Come in, Hermes.”

The three spent the next hour eating ice cream, lunches that a PA brought them and prepared to return for the rest of the day shooting acting scenes. Ginger had a week to heal up before they would perform their “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” dance. In the meantime, they had regular filming to do and it would be a busy week.

***************************

Nearly a week later, Phyllis picked at her pork chops and mashed potatoes. She couldn’t decide if she was hungry or not. Across the table from her, Fred watched in concern. 

It wasn’t often during the week that they got to eat dinner together, even though 8pm was late for their supper. He was usually at work long hours, but they were shooting the “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” dance tomorrow, and Sandrich wanted him well rested. He’d been sent home to sleep.

“Can I get you something else?” he asked. “I can run to the market or any restaurant that you like?”

Now that she was more obviously pregnant, it was all seeming a bit more real to him. Her growing belly was a daily reminder of the deal they had made. He was slowly acclimating to the idea that he was going to be a father. Because he’d married so late, at 33, he’d barely gotten used to the idea of being married, such as it was, with Ginger in the picture and all, and now he reluctantly faced impending fatherhood. He waffled between being resentful and cautiously excited. His emotions were all over the place, but good manners were always a safe bet when you didn’t know what else to do.

She appreciated his concern. “No, that’s not necessary but thank you for offering.”

He watched her pick at a few more bites. With a pang, he remembered how Ginger frequently cajoled him into eating when he didn’t want to. “Hey, come on. Take three bites and I’ll count them out.”

She grimaced but put bite number one into her mouth and chewed obediently. Finally, the other two bites were down, too and she set down her fork. “Ugh. I’m hungry but everything tastes wrong. It’s disgusting.”

“Well, you’ve got to keep your strength up,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that. Actually, I’m tired. Peter’s already asleep,” she yawned hugely. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”

She pushed back her chair and disappeared down the hallway. Fred put away the leftovers. After the last dish was dripping in the dish drainer, he yawned, too. Maybe he should call it an early night and take Sandrich’s advice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed at 9:30pm, but it might be advantageous. Sometimes the dances took a really long time and they filmed into the wee hours of the morning. He should hit the hay early for once.

Slipping quietly into his room, he dressed silently in his pajamas and climbed into bed. Sometimes Phyllis chose to sleep on the daybed in Peter’s room, but as her pregnancy advanced, her own bed was more comfortable, even if Fred was in it. He had tried the daybed a few times, but Peter’s sleeping noises had kept him awake all night. At least Phyllis was familiar and quiet.

He slipped into bed. As he closed his eyes and relaxed his body, a funny little jerking movement made him open them. It happened again. Beside him, Phyllis giggled softly.

“What are you doing?” he asked, equally softly. He turned towards her where she lay on her side away from him. He could see her slim back to him in the moon light through the blinds.  
“I’m not doing anything,” she replied, “But watch this.”

Turning towards him and lying on her back, she pulled back the covers and tugged her nightgown up, revealing her baby bump. A sudden movement of the skin distending on her belly made him jump back in shock. Phyllis laughed out loud, but not loud enough to wake up her son in his room down the hallway.

“What the hell!” Fred whispered, his eyes wide. 

“He’s doing flips or something,” his wife snickered. “It feels so strange! Peter was a much quieter baby than this one.”

Fred watched her stomach distend and move around on its own. “God damn, that’s weird.”

She took his hand and placed it firmly on her stomach. “Talk to him.”

“What do you mean, talk to him?” he flinched when the skin under his fingers moved but Phyllis’ hand on his prevented him from snatching it away. 

“I mean, talk to him, use speech, say something, dummy,” she answered. She looked delighted at his apprehension.

Fred decided that she was actually serious. The idea that he could talk to the baby was preposterous… or was it? When did fetuses acquire the ability to hear, anyway?

“Um, hello?” 

Phyllis laughed in earnest now, her low chuckle filling the room. “Oh geez Fred, like he’s going to answer back. Do better than that.”

He wrinkled his nose at her, and gamely gave it another go. Leaning close to her stomach, he said loudly, “Hey little one, it’s me, your Daddy.” 

With his hand on her belly, and Phyllis’ hand on his, he could feel the baby suddenly stop moving. It might actually be listening, so he decided a song was in order. He knew songs. He could sing, at least, if he didn’t know quite what to say. Taking a breath, he sang “Rockabye Baby.” His smooth voice filled up the room. The baby under the skin beneath his fingers was silent and still.

The moment he stopped singing, though, the baby went wild, twirling and wiggling around. They both watched in amusement and awe as her skin distended and rolled with the movements of the happy baby underneath. 

Fred was fascinated. He wasn’t sure when they’d decided to start calling the fetus a “he”. It just seemed right, though a little girl would be amazing, too. “Oh my god. Does he do that all the time?”

She sighed happily. “Yeah, pretty much. He’s quiet during the day when I’m moving around doing things, like he’s rocked to sleep. But as soon as I lay down, he’s busy. Maybe he’s tapping away in there with those little feet he likes to stick up under my ribs. Maybe he might inherit your dancing ability? He moves around constantly.”

Fred reluctantly pulled his hand back and laid back, overwhelmed. Up to this point a rather abstract ideal, the baby had just become a real person in Fred’s mind. Rather than a work-in-progress, he had acquired his own personality. The idea stunned him. 

Phyllis watched him digest the experience and a slow, triumphant smile grew on her face.

Turning to face him and placing her hand on her jiggling belly, she felt the baby move so that his back was on the bed next to her and his feet facing up. She poked and tapped the little feet pressing up against her side and he obliged by moving them to another spot. With Fred watching in fascination, she and the baby played the simple game. It wouldn’t be too long before he was too big to move around much in there, and this interaction wouldn’t last forever. She intended to enjoy every second of it. She intended her husband to see and enjoy it too. Every moment of connection bound him more tightly to her.

After a bit, the baby stopped the exuberant motions and stilled.

Fred worried instantly. “Is he okay in there?” He voluntarily put his hand on her warm stomach and felt the lift and fall of her breathing and the small, occasional movements of the fetus within.

Phyllis reassured him. “He’s sleeping. He just played hard. He’s only a couple of pounds right now; he’s just a little guy after all.”

Fred stared at her in the darkness, his hazel eyes huge. “I’m boggled. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, well stick around for the best part, will ya?” The appeal in her dark brown eyes was hopeful.

His heart hammered in his chest, so loud that he wondered if she could hear it. His two realities were tearing him in half. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he whispered, “I’ll do my best.”

It was all that he could promise her – or them. 

He stayed awake in the dark for a long while thinking about the twists that his life had taken in the past few years… and where things might take him in the future.


	5. Mulholland Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day of dancing, Ginger reaches her limit. Fred, high off of a successful dance, has no idea how deeply his dance partner feels her uncertainty at their future.
> 
> ***************************************
> 
> "Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.” But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed." - Kahlil Gibran
> 
> **************************************

Thursday, November 28, 1935 Thanksgiving Day

When Ginger got dressed for a big dance, she felt like a princess of old preparing for a glamourous ball, complete with an entourage of people getting her ready for the big event. Bernard Newman had come with Marie to observe Ginger in the dress before she danced, to see if they needed to make any last minute alterations. They turned her around and declared themselves satisfied. With her makeup and hair finished and the dress being zipped up behind her now, the transformation was nearly complete. 

The dress weighed slightly under twenty five pounds. It was entirely made of tiny grey-blue beads strung and sewn together into a form-fitting sheath, with a light brown fox fur collar, and with additional weights sewn into the hem. When they had been designing the dress, Bernard had doubted that she’d be able to walk in it, much less dance in it, but Ginger assured him that she could. This morning, she had tipped the scales at 109 pounds; out of curiosity, they’d weighed her. The dress added a fifth of her body weight. And yet, she carried it off as if it were nothing. The Wardrobe team, makeup artist and hairdresser watched in amazement as she did an experimental twirl in her dressing room’s living room. The heavy beaded gown swung around her legs, slapping her hard with the weights and she had to steel herself against them, lest she be thrown off balance. She did it a few more times, and in a few seconds, she’d mastered how she needed to move and stop in order to counter their effect.

This morning, they would begin the “Let’s Face the Music Dance,” the film’s big romantic duet. They wrapped her up in a warm blanket against the late November cold and walked down the studio street carefully, holding the dress up to avoid getting it dirty. Along the way, the few people who were outside in this early morning hour paused to watch them walk by, and the applause – from carpenters, runners, grips, electricians – heartened her and she waved cheerfully to them. Entering the stage, she dropped the blanket from her shoulders. She listened in private delight as the murmuring began and people stopped to look. Her team in tow, she strode onto the set, holding her head high.

The universal admiration from her crew and the pretty dress were about the only things going well this morning so far. She’d had a restless nights’ sleep, punctuated by bad dreams and she was already tired. She’d woken up earlier than usual, at 4am, and been unable to fall back asleep until five. As these dances always promised to be long, long shooting days, she was reluctantly prepared for a tough day. It didn’t help that it was a holiday. 

Fred saw her before she saw him. He was talking with Hermes, dressed in his required tux, when she walked into sight. It took him a second to recognize her. He was used to seeing her in rehearsal clothes or street clothes. It was always a disconcerting moment when she arrived on set in full wardrobe in amazing dresses. It was like seeing a goddess descend from the heavens to spend time with mortal men, and he was the lucky human. 

She took a few more steps and he gasped. A stage light shone this direction and backlit her, showing off her legs and hips under the beaded sheath. Hermes bumped him on the shoulder hard.

“Close your mouth, Fred,” he ordered quietly, entertained at his friend’s astonishment.

Fred snapped his mouth shut, not knowing when his jaw had dropped open. He felt the blood rush up into his cheeks, hot and tingly.

“Thanks,” he whispered back, “Jesus H. Christ. Um, it’s see through. Her dress.”

Hermes raised his eyebrows as he observed that, yes, the dress was entirely see through, though he was sure Ginger was well aware of it, but it didn’t quite have the effect on him that it did on others. Around them, nearly every other male close by had noticed her. Traffic slowed on set noticeably as everyone gawked at their lead actress. 

“Well, let’s go say hello,” Hermes prompted. Fred’s reactions to Ginger endlessly amused him when they didn’t infuriate him.

Without answering his choreographer, Fred took off towards his dance partner. Hermes trailed behind. 

She turned, as if by some inner prompting, and saw him approaching. Her face lit up and it drew the attention of every person on set like a magnet.

A shiver ran down Hermes spine. He didn’t know how they did it, this transforming from mere humans to icons of the silver screen. The term “chemistry” was thrown around a lot, that they had it in great measure, but few people recognized it for what it was – love. Love for each other, and love for the dance. Together, they glowed. He was sure that Terpsichore herself, the Greek Muse of dancing, must come to bless them as they danced, and maybe that accounted for some of the magic. 

Fred took her hands and held them out to her sides, looking over the dress from top to bottom. 

“Damn, Ginge, that’s pretty.”

In response, she twirled in place. Fred watched with dual attention. One half of his brain appreciated the aesthetic, and the other half evaluated the gown for its appropriateness for movement.  


“But it’s heavy; are you sure you can dance in this?” 

He stepped closer and grabbed one of the heavy sleeves, probably a pound or so by itself, was a weight in his hands. Suddenly he had a lot of reservations about this dress. After the fiasco with the ‘Top Hat’ feather dress, though, he didn’t want to criticize her very next choice in wardrobe. He would just shut his mouth and deal with it this time.

She turned in place again, bracing herself against the onslaught of beads as they spun around her legs. “Of course I can. I can always dance. It just takes a little extra time to settle. It’ll work great, don’t worry.”

She was probably right. The dress looked very dramatic. The dance was a dark choice, and the two characters saved each other from suicide. Long dramatic pauses in the dance, while the dress settled, would make for moments where they could act and respond to one another. The song was all melancholy and despair, and eventually, hope. Fred had written it just for her with Irving.

Sandrich walked up to his two leads and their entourages. “Good morning, are we ready?”

He apparently didn’t have anything to say about the dress, though he looked her up and down. 

“Sure, let’s get to rehearsing,” Fred said, “I want to see how this dress moves. It may take a while to get used to it.”

The director walked off without another word, back towards his chair in the huddle behind the cameras. Hermes kissed Ginger’s hand and said his good mornings. Fred playfully shoved him out of the way and commandeered her hand from his. A ripple of laughter sparked through the set at the byplay. 

He led her to the set piece, a stunning work of Art Deco. Dark grey structural supports began on the floor with classical scrolls and alternated with brightly lit square panels into a funnel from floor to ceiling at the back of the high gloss dance floor. Dark lines snaked out from the funnel towards the front of the set and dropped down a small step to a larger glossy black and white dance floor. To the side was the slight railing that Ginger would stand on while her character contemplated suicide by leaping to her death. Lights twinkled in the distance, reminiscent of city lights and their reflection on water. Fred would grab her down off of the railing and the song would begin, followed by the dance. It was an incredible piece of art, and Van Nest Polglace, the Art Designer and Assistant Designer Carroll Clark had every right to be proud. It was some of their finest work, in careers full of amazing set design, including all of Fred and Ginger’s other movies. It was perfect for this song. 

He let go of her hand and watched as she ran it unconsciously over a structural piece while she waited for Mark to begin rehearsal. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She seemed to be perfectly matched to the set, an element of beauty and aesthetic perfection, statuesque in miniature. He thrilled that they would be caught forever on celluloid on such a beautiful set in such elegant wardrobe with each other. He only hoped the dance would be sufficient to match it. 

She shrugged her shoulders and settled the beads one final time. “Hey, you ready or are you woolgathering?”

He took a step closer and leaned against the same structural piece, facing her. “Yeah.”

A new light snapped on above them, and the golden flash momentarily caught the brilliant sapphire of her eyes. She squinted and shaded her eyes.

“You know, sometimes I wish we could shoot in color. You’re stunning.” 

“Fred, stop that, you’ll turn my head with those compliments,” she laughed. “But don’t stop.” 

She wished that too, sometimes, but the technology was still in its infancy and she’d seen some questionable colorations. She didn’t want their films to look gaudy or distracting. 

The First Assistant Director interrupted their quiet discussion. 

“Okay,” he announced loudly to the soundstage, “We’re first going to rehearse Fred and Ginger in their dance once or twice, then we’ll run through the whole play with the background extras. The orchestra will be arriving in an hour or so. When we finish this up, we’ll move to the casino set with the orchestra and Fred. So, if you please…” 

James Casey had worked as an AD quite a few films, but stage managing an Astaire/Rogers picture was his pride and joy, and most challenging. With over a hundred people on set, between the two dancers, the orchestra and eventually, their audience, it was an undertaking. 

Hal took his place at the piano that would stand in for the orchestra during rehearsal. Striking the starting notes, he began, and Fred and Ginger took their places. Sandrich called “Action!”

Fred began the dance with the gentle swaying and Ginger followed with the mirroring. However, since this was rehearsal, they didn’t need to be quiet or serious, as the script required. 

As they swung into the more exuberant part of the dance, Fred watched her dress move as they did. They’d gone through this dance dozens of times, but the first time in the actual dancing dress was always a bit different. The beads made a soft swishing noise as they wrapped around her legs. He could also hear the slap of the weights against her ankles and felt it occasionally against his.

“Ouch, that one hurt,” he murmured as an especially fast twirl made the dress spin out and whack him in the leg. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she replied, “The weighted hem hits me every single I move.”

Fred hummed his compassion. “Maybe we’ll need more ice. I can ice your ankles… and anything else.”

Twirling and being careful of her heavily beaded sleeves as they spun around, she couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her, though she was sure no one else could hear them chatting quietly over Hal’s loud piano playing. She knew the Set Photographer was close by, snapping photos in a continuous stream. However, he was a long time part of their crew, and never indicated that he overheard them. Even with the weights and the heaviness of the dress itself, she adored this gown. It would look fabulous on film and made her feel glamourous, and she loved that feeling.

“Sounds like an excellent plan,” she answered, glad that the filming in black and white wouldn’t show her blush.

The movements of the dance didn’t incorporate any elements of tap, for which she was grateful. This was straight dancing and she and Fred moved like one person across the dance floor. They’d gone over the dance so many times already that every move came naturally. She barely had to think about it. Each movement flowed into the next without consideration, their hands and bodies meeting in tempo, completely in unison. The slap and swish of the dress, the breathing in time to the music, Fred’s familiar humming under his breath let her lose herself in the dance. 

The First AD called, “Okay looks good, let’s reset and go through it again.”

Abruptly, Ginger was recalled back to earth from where she went when they danced. At Fred’s twinkling eyes suggested, he found the return equally jarring. 

They came apart and caught their breaths. 

“This just may be the most romantic dance, yet” she said quietly. “Damn, Freddie, look at what you’ve created. It’s amazing. You’re amazing. And the whole world knows it.”

She said it and blushed, a little overwhelmed with the magic that happened when they moved together to music. Looking out through the stage lights to the darker soundstage, she could see the crew moving around, watching them, and working in equal measure.

************************

In the audience, sitting in their director’s chairs, Randy reached across and nudged Hermes. “You know, I didn’t stick around to watch much of the dancing on ‘Roberta’. Are they always this good?”

The choreographer grimaced at him. “Yes, they are. And Randy, do you know how many people would KILL for a chance to see them dance like this? I can’t believe you bugged out.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m slow sometimes. So shoot me.” He laughed. “I should have brought Cary to see this. He’s got quite the crush on Ginger. He’s ridiculously smitten. I'm going to call him to get over here.”

Hermes returned his attention to the stage, where Fred and Ginger stood talking quietly, waiting for the next rehearsal to begin. 

“It’s strange, watching them transform like this. One moment, they’re your dorky best friends and the next… they’re whatever this is.”

Randy watched as Fred took Ginger’s hand and kissed her palm. “Good lord, they are not at all subtle.”

He shook his head and wished for the day when he and his lover could ever act like that in public and get away with it. Beside him, Hermes sighed, thinking nearly the exact same thing. Even an illicit love affair was more socially acceptable than two men – or two women – being together. Maybe the world would change someday, but today was not that day.

Pandro Berman moved over to join the two men talking. “How’s our dancers today, Hermes?"

Hermes didn’t particularly like the producer, who seemed a bit smarmy to him because of his obvious and unending flirting with Ginger, who never gave him reason to continue. Producers shouldn’t flirt with or chase after their talent. Between Sandrich’s crush on Fred and Berman’s flirting with Ginger, Hermes wished there was a guild that could protect actors from predatory higher-ups in the studio hierarchy and general mistreatment on set.

“Oh fine. They’re doing their best Astaire & Rogers impressions, you see.”

Berman didn’t know if Hermes was kidding around or not, so he just grunted and very obviously checked Ginger out in the dress. Out of his line of sight Randy rolled his eyes, as if he hadn’t just moments ago been doing the same exact thing. At least he was more of a gentleman about it, and he’d be more than willing to defend her honor at the drop of a hat against men just like the producer. 

“Let’s try it one more time with a few different lights. Places, everyone.” 

Ginger and Fred took their places, and Hal played the first bar of music to himself. Sandrich gave the go-ahead and they ran through it again.

She stepped behind the set, where she’d make her entrance to the railing. Behind it, Lucy and several other gowned women extras lingered, waiting for their cues. Lucy would be on stage with Fred, one of the bejeweled gold diggers who would snub Fred’s financially broke character who had just lost his fortunate at the gambling table. The slinky silver satin gown flowed over her figure, showing off her long legs to advantage. Ginger walked over to her carefully and silently admired it while Lucy tried not to fidget. After a moment, the 2nd AD gave her the cue and Ginger playfully slapped her on the butt right before she walked out. Composing herself, Lucy manifested the haughtiness needed in order to snub Fred on set, but not before she gave Ginger an unprofessional hand gesture, carefully hidden from the AD.

The AD shooed her over to her own mark, where she impatiently waited for his signal because she couldn’t hear Hal’s piano from her spot. When the orchestra arrived, she’d hear it easily, but she waited now. He pointed and it was her turn.

They ran through the dance, and Fred paid special attention to giving adequate time for the dress to settle between moves. Finally, he and Sandrich were satisfied.

They took a short break while the orchestra arrived and settled into their chairs and everyone did last minute checks on equipment. 

At the last second, before he moved to his own mark for actual filming, Fred whispered, “Remember, this is for you.”

How could she possibly forget?

****************************

The violins trilled, contrasting the ugly despair of Ginger’s character against the beauty of her form, as she climbs the railing to jump to her death. Fred rushes to her, and grabs her by the hand, and after a brief struggle, she twirls away from the edge and certain death. Fred’s character is still holding his gun and she shows brief interest as she tries to grab it, but he flings it into the “water” off-stage. When that fails, she crossed in front of him and she slumps in despair against a nearby column. He shows her his empty wallet, and she glances at him briefly, but doesn’t care. He flings it after the gun and moves in closer as she turns away from him, utterly despondent.

The music quieted as Fred began to sing. 

“There may be trauma ahead,  
But while there’s music and moonlight  
And love and romance

(Fred emphasized ‘love’ and she closed her eyes)  
(he emphasized romance and she turned her head)

Let’s face the music and dance….”

Ginger worked at staying in character. It was very different doing a song with Fred and NOT keeping eye contact with him, and it was more difficult that she thought it would be. She walked away from him, but he followed.

“Before the fiddlers have fled 

(he touched her gently on the back, and pulled it back quickly)

Before they ask us to pay the bill  
And while we still have a chance…  
Let’s face the music and dance.”

She tried walking away from him again, but he took her arm gently, his long fingers resting lightly on her arm.

“Soon we’ll be without the moon  
Humming a different tune and then  
There may be teardrops to shed  
But while there’s music and moonlight  
And love and romance…”

She allowed herself to think of what they stood to lose in the next two months. Just for a moment and allowed the heartache to show on her face. She sighed gently and knew that Fred caught it and understood it.

“Let’s face the music and dance, dance!  
Let’s face the music and dance…”

Sliding effortlessly back into character, she was allowed to look at Fred once. His hazel eyes twinkled gently at her, inviting her as always into the dance. With an elegant twirl around her, he faced her, and the dance began.

The stringed instruments sang, and the duo fluidly moved across the floor, gently swaying, and mirroring each other. He spun around her and begged her, with his eyes, to join him. She let him take her hand and spin her out, and back in. The heavy beads slapped at her legs in the twirl and she flung her arms wide. Fred gasped, but since Ginger wasn’t looking at him, she had no idea that her heavy sleeve had just slapped him in the face. He kept dancing. Full of handholding and pulling and pushing, Fred’s character tried to bring the beautiful stranger back to life.  


Together they moved across the glossy dance floor, Fred’s character flitting around her and continuously trying to catch her eye. She was glad that her character was not supposed to look at him. Fred was lightly humming to her as they moved together, and she followed the lyrics easily enough, and the meaning that only the two of them knew. 

Finally, when the music swelled to a crescendo, they transitioned to dancing together fully, and soon swirled around the floor quickly, holding one another tightly. They came apart and went different directions, but then both stopped on the music cue, hopped, and spun back around towards the other. A gasp went through the watching crew, and in some part of her mind, she realized she was gloriously backlit, but she kept dancing and stayed in character. 

After an energetic spin, the dress spun back around with its heavy weights, and wrapped itself around her legs with a resounding slap. She tried not to flinch, to keep her face expressionless. The sting continued as they moved into the piston-like arm movement and then into the conclusion. Ginger swayed her arms, Fred did an amazing leap and pulled her - hard – to him. Side by side, they dropped to one knee and then back, before dramatically lunging into the wings and off stage. 

The second they were out of sight, Fred grabbed her up out of the lunge and backed her into the set wall. 

“Ginge, that was absolutely amazing!” he gushed quietly, bringing both hands to her face for a hard kiss, fast before anyone saw them. They could hear Sandrich yell “Cut!” out on the floor, and the clapping began. 

“Come on, that’s for us!” He seemed almost giddy as he pulled her by the hand back onto the dance floor. 

Ginger followed, still partially in character. The music and lyrics had touched her deeply, and it still lingered in her mind. She’d dropped deeply into character for the dance in order to get through it without falling apart, and she struggled to shake off the despondency of her character, which she shared.

The bright lights and the awaiting crew helped to banished it enough, though. She and Fred took a bow as Sandrich left his spot behind the camera crew.

“You know, you clocked me good,” he laughed, as Mark approached. He raised his hand to his face. “Your sleeve got me on one of the first spins.”

“What?” Now that she looked at him closer, in the spotlights, she could see that half of his face was a light red splotch. “Oh, god, I had no idea!”

“Oh, I’ll be alright. I’m sure you’re just trying to knock some sense into me.”

While she was contrite, it hadn’t hindered his dance ability any, so it couldn’t have been too bad. “Did it work?”

“What do you think?”

She chuckled as their quiet private conversation was interrupted by Sandrich. Seeing his leading man holding his face and Ginger examining it, he wanted immediately to know what happened.  


Giving Ginger a disgusted look, he asked Fred if he was okay to give it another go.

“Yes, of course,” he answered staunchly, and Sandrich returned to his chair, grumbling under his breath. 

He turned to Ginger and escorted her backstage to her starting position, holding hands. They were going again from the top and he would sing to her again. 

**************************

The filming continued on and on. Sandrich wasn’t satisfied. Maybe he was insisting on repeated takes to punish Ginger in some way for hurting Fred. She didn’t know, and neither did Fred. They both tried to avoid the crew, lingering backstage to stay in character sitting quietly together in folding chairs, waiting, holding hands. At some point the camera glitched, and at another, the sound wasn’t on cue. The day dragged on, they broke for lunch and returned. They broke for dinner and returned. Between each take, set dressers mopped and scrubbed their scuffs from the glossy soft floor, which took a half hour each time. All in all, it took twenty takes to get it in the can. 

Finally, Sandrich had enough. It was late, going on ten o’clock. Calling it quits on the sequence, he said that they’d decide tomorrow if they had it or not. He wanted to get on with the rest of the casino sequence, since they had all the background waiting around all day, expecting to work at any minute. Going into overtime was bad enough but keeping them around until tomorrow would just be an added and unnecessary expense. 

As he clapped Fred on the shoulder and told him well done, he walked right past Ginger without a word. 

Fred took her hand and they walked to Craft Service for a snack. Ginger’s stomach growled and even Fred conceded that he needed food. 

He handed her a plate and they loaded up. “I don’t know why Mark is like that, baby, but just don’t let it get to you. You did a wonderful job today. It’s going to look fantastic in the film.”

She nodded, but still felt the curious melancholy that had affected her all day. 

A light touch on her arm from the other direction surprised her. She looked up into the face of Cary Grant. His warm chocolate brown eyes and perfect lips smiled at her. For a big man, he moved silently. She hadn’t heard him approach. She felt tiny standing next to him again.

“He’s right. That was absolutely amazing.”

She blushed and stuttered, “Oh, oh thank you! That’s kind of you to say.”

Fred butted in, “How much did you see?”

“Oh, I got here in time to see the whole thing. I’ve been sitting in the back quietly. Randy stayed for half but got tired and went home. I’m headed out myself. I just wanted to congratulate you on a beautiful job.”

He held out his hand and took hers, kissing it lightly, he shrugged into the heavy coat on his other arm and stuffed his hat on his head. He tipped his hat to Fred and Ginger and walked off. As she watched, Lucy cut him off before he could get to the door and presumably introduce herself. 

Fred leaned over and whispered in her ear as the girls from wardrobe hovered nearby, so that they could assist her in getting out of the dress in her dressing room. “Thanks for the dance. Come say goodbye before you leave?”

“Of course,” she answered, watching Cary leave the set and Lucy return to her clutch of background extras lounging around waiting their turn in the spotlight. Her dance partners bright smile warmed her inside.  


With the wardrobe team in tow, she headed to her dressing room, nibbling off her plate of food.

***********************

Charles swung the stage door open for her and she stepped inside, glad to be out of the cold late November wind. It was late, going on ten thirty now. She could feel the exhaustion creeping up on her after fourteen hours of dancing in a 25 pound dress, waiting to dance and being awake since 4am after a restless night of broken sleep. Maybe Lela had saved her some Thanksgiving dinner. Since today was a working day, just like any other, she and everyone else had to miss out on any festivities. 

Before she left for Lela’s house, though, she wanted to sneak back inside and say goodnight to Fred and Lucy. They still had to stay around and shoot the two casino scenes, but there was no way they were going to get to her last scene in the dress, so they’d shoot that tomorrow. 

She stepped into the warmer soundstage and shivered in her coat. Stepping around to the craft service table, hoping to nibble a bit more on the turkeys that they’d brought in for the crew and cast, just in cases there was no dinner left at Lela’s, she did a double take. Fred’s mother, Ann Astaire, stared back at her from the other side of the table, a serving spoon in her hand still in the cranberry sauce.

“Ginger, is that you?” Ann asked. She’d met Ginger several times when she and Fred had dated in New York four years previous. “I hardly recognized you with the blond hair!”

She liked Ann but hadn’t seen her since those days. “Hi! Ann! Oh, it’s good to see you! Fred didn’t tell me that you were in town. Did you get to see any of the dancing? I didn’t notice.”

Ann grimaced. “No, unfortunately. We just finished Thanksgiving dinner a bit ago, and Phyllis didn’t want to see it, so we came now, to watch the casino scenes.”

That made sense. She couldn’t imagine why Fred’s wife would want to see him dancing with her, especially in their romance dances, especially now. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. It was lovely. Fred’s an amazing dancer; he makes it all so easy.”

Ann beamed. Hearing praise for her son was always a delight. She finished scooping her cranberry sauce onto her plate and came around the table. Ginger grabbed a cracker off the table instead of turkey and nibbled at it as they walked. 

She stopped abruptly. In the area where the cast had their chairs, twenty feet away, she could see Fred and a crowd of hangers-on, and Phyllis, who had commandeered Ginger’s chair. She sat with her legs crossed, with a tight dress showing off her baby belly, and her knitting needles clicked out a white baby blanket. Fred sat next to her, with his arm around her, playing with her hair absently, laughing and conversing. Hermes sat in his own chair and fiddled with the edge of the blanket on her other side, admiring the stitches. Pandro stood to Fred’s right, shoveling in turkey and apple pie at an alarming rate, while Lucy stood behind them all, taking tiny bites of whatever was on her plate and watching the group with a sharp gaze, her eyes following the conversations like a tennis match. 

Ann took another step ahead of Ginger and stopped, noticing that she was no longer following. “Are you going to join us?”

The whole scene was like a punch to her gut. She just couldn’t bear to go over there. “Actually, I’m really tired. Will you please just tell Fred for me that I said goodnight?”

Ann stepped back towards her and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “Of course, sweetie. It was good to see you again.”

As much as Ginger had wanted to come in and say goodnight and thank you, she now just as strongly wanted to escape. 

Ann grabbed her arm before she could. “I wish that were you, instead of her.”

Ann winked at her conspiratorially and walked over to join the group. Ginger could only interpret that to mean that Fred’s mom wasn’t thrilled with having Phyllis as a daughter-in-law. She took a shuddering breath and backed quickly away, Ann’s confession another inadvertent blow. Walking as quietly as possible, in order to escape unnoticed, she fled the stage.

**********************

Ginger drove for over an hour, aimlessly, before inspiration hit and she decided on a destination. She felt sick to her stomach, with pains stabbing her gut, and she alternated between unconscious sobs and hopeless, mindless drifting. The scene replayed itself over and over in her mind. Her lover and his family and friends, warm and inviting and laughing together, and her place outside, looking in, never to be a part of that. Nausea hit again, and she held her stomach tightly with one arm. Harsh thoughts intruded. Her director’s distain, dismissive of her contributions. Her tenuous relationship with Fred, stretched to the breaking point by his wife’s pregnancy and the rules of propriety; her marriage to Lew a failure in progress, and words of divorce exchanged during angry encounters. The streets of Los Angeles rolled under her tires, uncaring of her anguish.

Finally, she hit Laurel Canyon and turned north, absently navigating the twists and turns until she turned off on Mulholland heading west. The street was quiet now, at nearly midnight, the pines, rhododendrons, and palms swaying side by side in the wind. To either side, the lights of Los Angeles and the Valley twinkled coldly. She watched carefully so that she didn’t miss the turn on the winding road, having only been here once before. 

Soon, the driveway to Fred’s dentist came up on her left and she carefully turned into the asphalt and gravel parking lot. Pulling into the same space where she’d parked with Fred (and gotten caught by the police officer), she turned off the engine. The radiator clicked hotly and the blustery night whipped pine needles and dust against the car. She couldn’t hear anything over the cacophony of noise in her head.

Stepping out, she wrapped her long fur coat around herself tighter. A cold gust ripped through the empty parking lot, catching the edge of her coat, and seeking to rip the warmth from her body. She stared at the city lights for uncounted minutes, feeling her smallness and unimportance against the vast, unfeeling city. Stepping carefully, she walked to the very edge, and looked down into the darkness of the canyon below her. Kicking a piece of loose asphalt with her shoe, she listened as it fell, a long ways down. 

The tears fell in nearly frozen streaks down her face. She didn’t know when she had started sobbing again, and she wiped the tears away brusquely. She leaned over the edge cautiously. Hundreds of feet below in the steep canyon, a few lights from homes and streetlights glinted back at her. 

“Don’t.”

The word was soft, barely audible, but she startled. The loose gravel skidded out from beneath her feet, and she slipped towards the edge.

A sharp yank on the waistband of her pants sent her flailing backwards and she slammed into a solid body, nearly knocking the wind out of her. Hermes held her tightly a few feet back from the edge, his wiry arms wrapped around her from behind like steel cables.

He buried his face in her hair and whispered in her ear again, “Don’t.”

She started shivering, suddenly sober and cold. “I wasn’t…”

Hermes held her tighter. Her shuddering grew stronger, shaking her slim frame. “I wouldn’t…”

Her teeth began to chatter, entirely out of her control. Hermes walked her a few feet further back, turned her around and snugged her into his great coat until the tremors eased. She fit right under his chin, and he held her, wishing his warmth and aliveness and joy could be transmitted by touch. 

They stayed like that a long time, until he could feel the cold creeping up on them and her body quieting against his, her heaving sobs diminishing into hiccups, and finally to calmness. Leading her to his car, he got her bundled safely inside and buckled up. He handed her a handful of tissues and she blew her reddened nose and dabbed her puffy, red eyes.

“What about my car?” she asked, the first words she’d spoken in more than an hour.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of it.”

He didn’t drive her home, but to Lela’s house. There was no way he was going to let her stay in her big house all alone, because even when Lew was there, he wasn’t home. 

At his knocking, a crack in the door revealed Lela’s sleep blurred eye. “Oh, hi, Hermes!”

She opened the door fully and saw that he had Ginger bundled under his arm. “Come in, come in!”

“No, thanks, I’ve got to be going. But she should sleep here tonight. We had a hard day at work.”

Lela nodded, almost as if she understood. 

“Come on, sweet pea, let’s get you to bed.” She pulled an unprotesting and silent Ginger into the house.

“We do have work tomorrow, her call time is 8am,” he reminded as the door closed. 

Lela nodded. “I’ll make sure she’s there.”

Hermes could take that promise to the bank. He returned to his car and sat in the drive for a few minutes composing himself. He would talk to Ginger in the morning and see how she was doing. A shudder of his own convulsed his shoulders as he considered what could have happened if she’d gone over the edge, literally and figuratively. He resolved to keep a closer eye on her. He didn’t know if he would tell Fred about this or not. 

Maybe no one else needed to know how close she’d come to breaking.


	6. Tied Up In A Knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginger fights to regain her happiness while Fred worries about the future. A fabulous dance, Christmas 1935 and stolen moments before the birth of Fred's son are pressed into what could be their last weeks together. 
> 
> ************************************
> 
> “Falling so madly in love with you is a tragedy. Nothing in my world will ever seem so beautiful again.” - Michael Faudet 
> 
> ************************************

December 18, 1935 

Hermes watched from the side lines as Ginger broke into her song and he tapped his toes to the beat. “Let Yourself Go” was a catchy tune; and it suited Ginger’s vocal range perfectly. She sang with gusto, though he could tell that they’d probably have to re-do it in post; he could hear the faint echo and knew it wouldn’t translate well to the big screen. They’d have to dub it. Meanwhile, the crowd of extras was loving it, moving, and grooving to the tune. 

His friend had been determinedly cheerful the past few weeks since the incident on Mulholland. As he had suspected, she’d flat out refused to discuss it afterwards and had repeatedly and firmly shut down any attempts at conversation. She had said exactly two things – ‘thank you’ and ‘don’t tell Fred’. Now, as he watched her sing, he could barely imagine that she was the same girl who had been so recently on the edge of despair.

She belted out the tune, flirting with the dancing extras, catching the eyes of various dancing couples throughout the song, and they swooned for her. They eagerly complied with anything the AD told them to do, thrilled to be a part of an Astaire-Rogers film, elated to be in a scene with the famous actress/singer/dancer triple threat. Ginger, the band behind her and the dancing extras in front of her built up to a crescendo with each take that Sandrich ordered. 

After seven takes, Sandrich was finally satisfied. The background singers collapsed together onto the stage, shoulder to shoulder and stretched out their legs after standing for three hours singing, kicking off their shoes and massaging their sore feet. Ginger shook their hands and thanked them, especially Betty Grable, who had perfect pitch and kept them all on key and on the beat. The band members stood and stretched, too. Ginger stepped down off the stage and grabbed a big glass of water from Craft Service. Hermes meandered over and leaned on the table, watching her chug it down. 

“Sweetheart, that was great!” 

With a few discrete singing lessons that she’d forever deny ever having, she’d improved tremendously, especially in her breathing and phrasing. She fanned herself with a paper plate off the table. Her cheeks were rosy pink and her sailor hat sat jauntily on top her blond curls. Her sparkling blue eyes were framed by long lashes, under from which she regarded him happily. Regardless of what Sandrich did or didn’t say, she knew she’d nailed the scene and the song.

“Thanks!” 

“Gonna be a long day today,” he began, “With the dance this afternoon and everything. You gonna be okay?”

She set down the glass in the dirty dishes bin forcefully and glanced at him as she walked back to her chair, “Of course.”

Following after her, he looked her over. She’d gained another few pounds and filled out the satiny sailor suit well, slim, and curvy again instead of bony. She still looked thin, but not the nearly translucent gaunt figure of a few weeks ago. She turned back so quickly that he nearly crashed into her. Sidestepping hastily, he avoided the collision.

“Hermes, I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.” She poked him in the chest with the paper plate. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously, and a hint of anger crept into her voice. 

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. It’s just, you know, I love you and I worry about you.”

She melted, as he knew she would. He slung an arm over her shoulder and together they returned to their chairs. 

From the dressing room hallway entrance, Fred watched his friends. There had been something off about Ginger lately, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. His mother had told him that she’d refused to join them all socializing after the big dance. It had given him an uncomfortable feeling. Ginger adored mingling and being in the limelight. He’d brushed it off, thinking that maybe she just wanted to avoid Phyllis; that was understandable. Watching her now chatting animatedly with Hermes, he thought his intuition had read the situation wrong; there didn’t seem anything amiss.

He wished he could say the same. While Ginger was putting on the pounds, he seemed to be losing them. Always slim, he was rail thin and his tuxedo was loose. He perused the Craft Service table, picking up a plate and sprinkling it with a couple of carrot sticks and one hardboiled egg. Looking at the largely empty plate, he reluctantly added a plain bagel. He probably wouldn’t eat it now, but he might later. He hated to dance on a full stomach. 

He joined Hermes and Ginger and the three sat companionably chatting and eating until Sandrich was ready to shoot. Next up would be the last big dance scene of the film.

The band took their places again and did some tuning up, while the extras limbered up for the dance contest sequence. The Master of Ceremonies tapped the microphone, testing it, and his assistant, holding the huge trophy cup, joined him on stage. The lighting crew ran through the dark and light sequence quickly, flickering over the crowd. 

Calling everyone to take their places, the First AD looked everything over and gave Sandrich a nod. 

The band starts up, the background dancers dance and the emcee tags couples out of the contest. Finally, it was Fred and Ginger’s turn. Entering the darkened club, the dancers parted for the duo as the close in camera slid back, and they ran through their speaking parts and the fast little sequence with Bake’s Navy buddies quickly. After only three takes, unusual for Sandrich, they moved to the dance. 

Fred loved this sequence. The cameras rolled film.

As Sherry, Ginger says, “Oh wait, this is the dance contest. I’m not supposed to be in it.”

As Bake, he responds, “Why not?”

Sherry says, “Because it’s for guests.”

Bake says, “Well, I’m a guest, ten cent’s worth.”

Fred snaked an arm around her back and pulled her close. He was so strong that she nearly lost her footing as he yanked her forward. She still felt too light and fragile against him.

Sherry replied, “No, I don’t think I’d better.”

“Maybe you’re right. You probably couldn’t keep up with me anymore, anyway,” Fred smirked and crossed his arms. It was scripted, but it was a challenge that he liked to make to his dance partner in rehearsals. Ginger was one of the most competitive people he’d ever met, and she always rose to the challenge.

“Oh, you think not? I’m not so sure you could keep up with ME.” She tipped her chin higher and straightened her necktie; she knew Fred was giving her a side-eyed glance full of dare. A small smile graced her lips, and it was all Ginger, not Sherry.

He grabbed her hand, and the competition was on. 

When the music started up, with her warm hand in his, all the stress in him faded away. He let the music infuse him and animate his whole body and the tap naturally flowed like water; as naturally as six weeks of rehearsal could make it, at least. Their tap shoes snapped on the wooden parquet flooring in perfect synchronicity. The extras cheered when they did Ginger’s plank and he marveled at the strength in her core, keeping their center of balance just right during the difficult move. Throughout the dance, her laughter rang out, and he whooped it up a few times himself as the music escalated. All the taps would be re-recorded in post anyway, and any noises they made would be eliminated. They could be as loud as they wanted. There was only the music, the dance and Ginger, and everything was right in his world, at least for right now. 

“Right now” looked like it would extend to the next several hours, with all the different angles and changes that Sandrich wanted, but that was okay with Fred. He would stitch it together in post-production with the editors and make it as seamless as possible. 

The first take of the dance went well, and his worries receded. Her tapping today was on point and she transitioned eagerly and easily through the challenging tap moves. Any day spent dancing with Ginger was a perfect day in his book and he had every intention of thoroughly enjoying it.

****************************************

Hermes sat reading a book and jumped as Fred snuck in behind him silently and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Ah, geez, Fred don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Fred chewed his gum annoyingly, chomping the wad noisily and blowing bubbles. The gum chewing was an effort to make him more of an “every man” in the film but it was getting on Hermes nerves. He leaned over right in Hermes ear and popped one more. Hermes slammed his book down. “Stop with the bubbles. You’re being an ass.”

“Speaking of ass, I could bounce a penny off that.” Ginger came up behind them and ran her hand down Fred’s backside out of sight of the crew. “I kinda like this sailor suit. But I could do without the gum, too. Lose it.”

Fred obediently tossed it in the nearest trash can. The Props Master had lots more stashed for him anyway. Ginger plopped into her chair and nibbled on the crackers and cheese she’d snagged. Fred sat and pulled out the bagel he’d stashed in the pocket on his own chair. Sitting for four hours hadn’t improved it any. 

The three sat in companionable silence, enjoying their dinner break together. They still hadn’t completed the sequence and would have another couple hours on set. With live music and two dozen extras and lighting cues in the middle of the dance, it was a challenging afternoons work.

A chair scraping loudly made them all jump. Cary Grant dragged another director’s chair behind him and headed in their direction.

“Hi, everyone.”

“Cary! What a pleasant surprise!” 

Fred watched as Ginger smiled warmly at the actor and invited him to sit next to her. Randy had mentioned to him that Cary had a crush on his dance partner. As he watched them chat, he came to the uncomfortable realization that Lew was not the only man who vied for Ginger’s attention. Since they were “only” dance partners, he’d have to sit and watch her flirt with other men. He wasn’t allowed to be possessive, or to look as if it concerned him, either. Hermes discretely elbowed him, so he pulled his polite mask over his face and pretended to read his script, all the while following Ginger and Cary’s conversation intently. 

Finally, the dinner break was over, and they returned to dancing. It irked him that Cary stayed and watched the whole two hours. It irked him more when Ginger left with him afterwards, after breezily wishing him a good night, and without a backwards glance.

***************************************

December 25, Wednesday, 1935 - Christmas

Fred tossed and turned in bed. A hundred invasive thoughts ran through his mind and he couldn’t turn them off. It hadn’t been a terribly busy day at work – only six hours – and he still had energy to burn. It was Christmas Eve, and he should have been relieved to have a short day, but he wasn’t. His legs twitched and he couldn’t settle. They had done all the requisite, traditional things – an evening church service, a nice dinner, and opening gifts together afterwards. Peter had been thrilled with all his new toys and had actually gone to sleep with a whole pile of them in his bed, unwilling to part with any of them, and his mother Ann had been happy to get to spend a few weeks plus the holiday with her son and his family. He should be content, but he wasn’t. 

Phyllis, beside him and eight months pregnant, had had enough. She sat up in their bed abruptly and glared at him in the dim light. She pointed out the door with a furious finger.

“Go sleep in the den on the pullout couch, or something. I can’t stand it when you wiggle and sigh all night long.”

She yanked the covers over her head and turned her back on him, huffing angrily and trying desperately to get comfortable with her (finally) huge pregnant belly in the way. She didn’t get much sleep as it was, with the baby doing his own tap dance routine all night long and sleeping all day when she had to take care of a rambunctious five year old. She couldn’t wait until the little guy was born and she could at least pass him off to Fred or the nanny in order to nap. In addition, she had heartburn and had to pee all the time, usually when it was most inconvenient. Fred tossing and turning was keeping her awake, and making her so frustrated that she wanted to cry. 

With his own annoyed huff, he grabbed his pillow and stuffed it under his arm. 

“Fine.”

He stomped down the hall to his den at the opposite end of the house and fumbled with the fold out couch-bed. Grabbing the afghan off the back, he punched his pillow several times, and lay down on the lumpy, strange smelling mattress and tried to settle. A shaft of light from the streetlight hit him right in the face. He groaned as his two dogs padded into the room, sniffing and snuffling, wondering what Dad was doing in the den. They jumped on the bed, wiggling delightedly, and stepping on him numerous times with their big feet. One laid down next to him, and the other jumped to the floor and came near to stare at him. 

“Oh, son of a bitch, I can’t sleep like this.” He pushed and the dog slunk away, to stare at him from further away, with her sad eyes. 

He hit his pillow again and stared into the darkness, willing sleep to come to him. His eyes fell on the phone beside him. This was where he usually called Ginger, so that Phyllis wouldn’t hear him. An idea came to him.

They had exchanged small gifts in her dressing room earlier in the day before they’d parted ways. Small, however, didn’t mean inconsequential. She’d gifted him a certificate for a box seat for the year at the new Santa Anita racetrack, and he’d gifted her a shopping spree at Bergdorf Goodman in New York City, to add to her enormous shoe collection. He’d joked that soon she would need to change a spare room into another closet. It had been a very enjoyable afternoon, snuggling on her couch together and just talking, but eventually he’d had to leave for home. She said she was planning on spending the rest of the day with her mother and her cousin’s family, but then would be going home later. She’d tossed in that Lew was out of town, spending the holiday with his own extended family instead of with her. He hadn’t been sure why she said that, but it was certainly giving him ideas now. Maybe that had entirely been her intention.

He wasn’t interested in sleeping. 

He walked quietly down the hallway to the laundry room and grabbed his discarded street clothes from the laundry basket. Dressing quietly, he snuck back into his room, grabbed his shoes and wallet, and headed out the door. The dogs watched him leave sadly but as soon as the door was shut, they jumped and settled on the couch bed contentedly.

*************************

The drive didn’t take long. Beverly Hills was not that big of a town and Ginger only lived a couple miles away. He parked his car in George’s driveway and quickly walked down the street to her house in the dark, stopping only to grab a handful of gravel from the side of her driveway. Hoping like hell that no one saw him and called the police, he carefully climbed the tall wrought iron fence and went around the back. The huge avocado tree at the corner of the bedroom wing loomed over him in the dark. Inside the house, he could hear Ginger’s dog barking frantically. 

After a second, he could hear her shushing the animal, to no avail. 

Giving up on discretion, he eyeballed the tree and found sufficient hand and foot holds. He moved carefully but quickly. Feeling slightly like a burglar and even more like a peeping tom, he chucked a pebble at her window. It hit with a clunk and he hoped that he hadn’t cracked it. She’d be furious if he had. The shushing stopped, but the frantic barking continued. He tossed another one and it hit with a lighter crack. He could see her in her dressing gown behind the shimmering curtains. Inching slowly out onto the big branch and hanging tightly to the one directly above him, he lightly jumped onto her balcony. 

He had his hand raised to knock on her window when the curtains flew back, and Ginger stood behind the glass – pointing a very deadly looking handgun straight at him. 

Her fear dissolved into shock and she quickly pointed the barrel away. She snapped it into its case securely before she turned back to the double doors. 

Yanking them open, she hissed, “What the HELL do you think you’re doing! I could have shot you!”

“Hiya, Ginge!”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and did his best “aw shucks” grin. Her Afghan dog padded out onto the balcony, his hackles raised cautiously, but he wiggled in delight when he saw that it was a friend, and his human mother was no longer in danger. Fred patted him on the head, while his heart raced from the momentary fear. Getting shot on Ginger’s balcony on Christmas Eve would be a poor way to end his career.

“Oh, for the life of me! Get in here before someone sees you.”

She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him behind her inside the cool room. Locking the double doors carefully, she gave him a disgusted look while she put the gun away back into the cabinet. Grabbing the dog by the collar, too, she pushed him into the hallway and shut the door.

“Alright, Romeo, what’s the big idea?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” 

Now that he was actually here, he was beginning to have second thoughts. It had seemed like a good idea when he snuck out of his house, but maybe this hadn’t been after all. His dance partner crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Her blue eyes narrowed at him but twinkled grey in the moonlight.

“So you thought you’d just show up at my house at midnight and climb in my window?”

“Um, yes?”

Fred leaned against her armoire, kicking a few shoes and boots out of the way to do so. Ginger’s room was always a disaster. He slowly raised one eyebrow, and looked her up and down, appreciating her short satin dressing gown over absolutely nothing else. He knew the exact moment that her sense of humor returned. Maybe it was a slight quirk of her lips or a softening of the furrows in her brow as she frowned at him. 

But he knew. He was forgiven. Better yet, he was welcome.

Now that the fear induced by a possible burglary was gone, she waved him over.

Stumbling over her shoes in the dark, he crashed into her and stepped on her foot. He grabbed at her to keep from falling and she did her best to hold up his heavier body as he found his footing. 

“Ouch. That’s not very romantic.”

“Oops, sorry, baby.” His hands slid around her, as he got his balance, groping her pleasantly along the way.

“If only they could see you now, fleet-footed Astaire, tripping over my shoes in the dark.”

“Probably best that they don’t, then,” he quipped back. He wrapped his arms around her waist as she draped hers over his shoulders. The moonlight shining through the window illuminated her enough that he could see her grinning. 

“Stay a while?”

“Gee, thanks. I will.”

She leaned into his kiss with enthusiasm. He grunted in surprise as she slid her tongue into his mouth, aggressively making him open wider. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she couldn’t possibly get any closer to him, their bodies pressed together tightly. He could feel her heart racing just as much as his.

She broke the lip-lock abruptly and pushed him away. Gasping for breath, he let go of her, but she began unbuttoning his shirt. When he tried to help, she slapped his hands away, so he gave up trying to be helpful and just let her do it. The garment fell to the floor and his t-shirt followed quickly. Again, he tried to help, and she pushed his hands away as she expertly unzipped his pants and pushed his clothing down around his ankles. He stepped out of them and groaned as her hand slid down his stomach to his dick. Wrapping a hand around it, its length slid through her warm fingers. Arising to the occasion, his arousal increased as she moved to roll his balls around, too. 

“Oh, my god,” he groaned. With her hand still on his dick and her other wrapped around his back, holding him close, he grabbed the sides of her face and hauled her in for another kiss. He could barely concentrate on it though, because of what she was doing with her hands. She swirled her tongue against his and for a long, blissful moment they held each other close, the only noises the sounds of pleasure and their feet shuffling on the floor, trying to stay upright.

With a sigh, she pulled away. Taking a step backwards, she wiped her mouth and observed him in the moonlight. Fully erect and needful, he grabbed for her, but she slapped his hands away again. He wasn’t sure what her game was tonight, but he watched with wide eyes as she kicked shoes and whatever else was on the floor out of the way and walked around him slowly, her eyes devouring him from every angle in the moonlight. With her own hands, she slipped the satin robe from her shoulders and tossed it away. The lust in her eyes made him even harder as she unconsciously licked her lips. He ached with desire, cum leaking and dribbling down his shaft.

“Don’t move.”

He shivered, gasped for air, and focused on keeping his hands at his sides as she walked all the way around him a second time, letting her fingers trail over his skin in the dark, each caress trailing fire against his skin. Coming around to face him, she smiled up at him impishly, and scooted backwards onto the bed. Breathing hard now, he desperately clung to his iron control, honed through decades of dance. She fluffed a pillow behind her and spread open her legs for him. Quirking a finger, she invited him to join her. 

He fairly flew onto the bed. On his knees, he grabbed her legs desperately and slid into her hot wetness with a groan. She writhed, giggling with delight, and he couldn’t help the growling moan that came from his chest as she wrapped her legs around him and he thrust into her hard. Her laughter rapidly degenerated into quiet noises that mirrored his, her own gasps matching his as they moved together. Stretching himself over her, he rocked into her, his face buried in her neck. The sounds of pleasure she was making drove him wild, and with a few final strokes he was coming hard. Her nails broke the skin on his back as she orgasmed around him, thrusting against him as well as she could while pinned down by his greater weight. Finally, they both lay gasping and sated. Fred couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. Ginger sucked in lungfuls of cool air beneath him, and after a minute, reluctantly rolled off beside her. 

Their almost violent sex surprised him, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Beneath him, she watched him, her blue eyes a light grey in the moonlight. Her hair curled against her pillow and her breasts jiggled a bit with each breath. He reached out and trailed the back of his hand against the curve of her breast, marveling at their perfection. A slight twitch in his dick amused him. At thirty six, he shouldn’t have anything left after the sex they’d just had, but Ginger always brought out the best in him. He wiggled down so that he could rest between her legs with his head on her chest. Her hands played in his hair, swirling it into little twists and then combing them straight again. Their breathing evened out eventually and he listened to her heartbeat return to normal.

“Damn, Ginge, that was amazing.”

Her amused chuckle rumbled under his ear. “Yeah, it was.”

They rested for quite a while, just enjoying the closeness. Eventually, though, he noticed that his back stung and said so. He sat up and Ginger did too, pushing him around so that she could see.

“Oh dear,” she whispered, sounding marginally contrite. “We should probably take care of that.”

Her nails had left several gouges down his back. Crawling out of bed, she retrieved some cream and bandages from the medicine cabinet above the bathroom sink. Returning, she ordered him to lay down on his stomach. Carefully dabbing the ointment and bandaging each mark, she said, “Sorry, baby. I got carried away.”

Fred didn’t really mind. They’d probably had the best sex they’d ever experienced, and he felt a bit floaty and light. “Oh, boy. Feel free to get carried away any time, darling. That was great. Though the scratches will be a bit hard to explain.”

“So don’t explain them.” That might be easier said than done, but he couldn’t worry about it now, not with her next to him.

He rested his chin on his crossed arms on the pillow and watched as her eyes roamed over his naked body. Becoming shy, he hugged her pillow and buried his face, her scent surrounding him and serenity engulfing him. 

With gentle hands and lips, she surprised him by kissing his shoulders, down his back on each bandaged wound, and over his muscled backside. He flinched and laughed when she’d hit a ticklish spot. He squirmed a little as her hands massaged and caressed him, as if memorizing every inch of him, unused to being such an object of adoration.

“Roll over,” she said finally, and he shivered in anticipation. With the same intense concentration, she covered his whole front in the same kisses. Scooting between his knees, he had to close his eyes when she took the length of him into her mouth. She didn’t do this often, it was the one sexual act she didn’t entirely love, but she gifted it to him tonight. She swirled her tongue around the sensitive tip of his dick, and he began to stand to attention once more, even though he couldn’t quite get it up yet. Letting him slip out of her lips, she kissed up his belly to his chest. 

As she crawled up and laid down next to him, her face inches from his, he marveled at her. One of the things he liked about her most was her unabashed joie de vivre, as the French said. Whether it was losing herself in dance, savoring ice cream or taking unashamed pleasure in good sex, he loved that she enjoyed it. He loved even more being the one that she enjoyed most. He’d never been anyone’s first choice until Ginger came into his life. He’d always been second best after his outgoing, popular older sister. Ginger made him feel like the neatest thing since sliced bread. 

“Thank you. Wow.” He didn’t know what else to say. Inside he was still that shy little boy seeking approval, and he wasn’t sure what he’d done to win her love. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe his good fortune. She was beautiful, and talented and intelligent and she loved him. It boggled his mind. He watched her as she looked him over and tried not to be self-conscious. 

Ginger was seldom shy, but he could see that she was blushing now, even in the dark. It wasn’t traditional for the woman to be the aggressor in the relationship, but she was definitely in charge and he was more than willing to defer to her in, well, anything except dance. And marriage. 

With that miserable thought, the frustration of his life returned with full force. He closed his eyes quickly, trying not to think of the challenges in their lives; this moment was precious. He didn’t know how many of them they had left and he didn’t want to ruin it by worrying. He hoped things would continue after the baby arrived, but he couldn’t guarantee it. If these priceless stolen times were all that they would have, then he wanted to remember every second. 

She ran her fingers lightly over his cheek and jaw, and leaned over for a gentle kiss, as if sensing his distress. He gave her the kiss, but then continued, kissing down to her neck, shoulder and to her breasts. If she seemed to enjoy his body, he definitely enjoyed hers. Her breath quickened again as he slid his tongue around her taut nipples. He let his hand trail deliberately, gently down her belly and she opened her legs for him willingly again. 

“Again?” he whispered. 

“Again,” she answered.

He slid two large fingers up inside her and explored her wetness. With a thumb on her clit, gently rubbing the already engorged bundle of nerves, she moaned and immediately moved in tandem with his hand. She grasped his arm tightly and remembered this time to not use her nails. He watched her intently as she tipped back her head, closed her eyes and surrendered to his talented fingers. He moved them slowly, enjoying the feel of her. Crooking his fingers slightly he felt for the ridges inside that brought the most pleasure and thrust in and nearly out. He leaned in and kissed her throat, moving his hand more firmly, upping the pace. Becoming more vocal, she moaned and came for a third time. When she was more composed, he slid his fingers out and licked the slippery wetness off, enjoying the taste of her on his tongue. Now it was her turn to watch him, her eyes wide in the moonlit darkness.

“Good night! The things you can do…”

He laughed in the dim light, elated to have pleased her. With a huge smile on his face, he rolled over on his back and stared at her ceiling, watching the shadows of branches outside moving in the December wind. Only she had ever responded to him like this. Only she had ever told him anything like that, that he was good in bed, not that there had been all that many before her. 

She continued with a slight tremble to her voice, unexpectedly echoing his thoughts, “You make me feel like no one else ever has.”

He looked over at her and his smile faded. Her lip trembled and she bit it and turned her head away from him. He launched himself up onto his elbow. 

“Hey,” he whispered, “you okay?” 

She blinked rapidly several times and answered, turning back to him.

“Yeah,” her voice still a bit shaky, “Just got a bit emotional, I guess.”

He ran his hand up and down her arm comfortingly. Her warm silky skin under his hand brought another twitch to his dick. He leaned over to kiss her forehead, inhaling her scent, memorizing every bit of her. 

She sat up. “How about six times a charm?”

“Aren’t you on number four?” 

“Yeah, but we have all night, don’t we?”

She wrinkled her nose at him and smiled a bit like a hungry diner at a buffet. His dick definitely twitched again, and he palmed his growing erection, helping himself along. She watched his hands move, her smile growing wider. When he was sufficiently firm, she straddled him and guided him inside of her. 

Quoting a line from one of her first movies, she writhed down against him and said, “Cigarette me, big boy.”

Giggling together at the silly line, he complied.

***********************

Fred snuck quietly into his house as the sun came up and tried to quiet his dogs. They were ecstatic to see him and playful, having had a good night’s sleep on the pullout. 

“Come on, you two,” he grabbed their leashes off the hook in the kitchen and jumped a mile when his mother flipped on the light behind him.

Fred grabbed his wildly beating heart and waggled a finger at her. “Oh boy, did you scare me.”

Ann Astaire folded her arms and stared coldly at her son. Fred fidgeted like a naughty little boy under her gaze. The dogs squirmed and jumped, and he caught at their collars, not looking at his mother.

“What?” he said, hooking up the first leash. Maybe she’d just go away if he wished it hard enough.

“Do you always sneak in early in the morning like this? Did the neighbors see you?”

Fred shook his head and hooked up the second dog. 

“Of course the neighbors didn’t see me. I don’t do this all the time; I’ll have you know.”

“Just on Christmas?” The scorn in her voice stung. 

“Just leave me alone, Mom. It’s none of your business.” He tried to brush past her, the dogs frisking wildly, their pink tongues lolling and their nails clicking on the hard kitchen floor. 

“My grandbaby is my business.” She paused, putting two and two together and poked him with a finger to his shoulder. “It’s Ginger, isn’t it?”

Fred’s own temper bubbled up. It took a lot to get him angry, but anyone daring to interfere with his relationship with his dance partner was absolutely on the fast road to tasting his fury. “So what if it is, Mom?”

Her brown eyes flashed. “You’d better get your head on straight, Frederick Austerlitz, and remember your priorities and morals.”

The blood rushed to his face and anger consumed him. He got in her face and pointed with his free hand down the hallway, towards his sleeping wife.

“This… this was a mistake. I will live up to my obligations and no one – no one – will ever know that this isn’t how I wanted things to be. Phyllis and I have an agreement. I will support her and the kids and play the part of the dutiful husband perfectly whenever I need to, but Ginger is my heart. She’s always been my love.” He got choked up, reflecting on their night just past. “No one has ever loved me like this before and I will NOT give her up. Ever. Do you understand me?”

His mother looked a little shocked. Fred rarely lost his temper and he almost never talked back to her. Regretfully remembering that he was thirty six and not six, she nodded slowly. His hazel eyes were bright and intense, and a little wild as he stared her down. 

“Okay, okay, don’t flip your wig.” Her attempt at humor failed. Fred wasn’t wearing his hairpiece. He glided past her and the dogs erupted with gleeful wiggles. 

“I’m walking the dogs.” 

With a final baleful glare at his mother, Fred wrangled his pets out the door and shut it quietly behind him. 

Ann Astaire sat down at the kitchen breakfast nook with her empty teacup and took a shuddering breath. Fred’s actions and anger were shocking. Now Ginger’s reluctance to join him and his family on the soundstage made too much sense. She’d always liked Ginger, with her bubbly good humor and outgoing, happy personality. She was very similar, in fact, to her daughter Adele, whom Fred adored. That he would fall for someone similar in personality to his beloved sister wasn’t a surprise. Ann had been sad when the girl had moved to Hollywood, leaving her son brokenhearted. It would have been a lot more fun having her as a daughter-in-law than Phyllis. Still, Phyllis was the one Fred had inexplicably married and Phyllis was the one who was going to make her a grandmother. 

She walked to the sink and filled the kettle for her tea. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation, but one thing was for certain – her grandchild came first.


	7. A Nail Named Fred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Follow the Fleet" wraps up principle photography and the baby is due any day. A few short weeks bring momentous changes for Fred and Ginger.
> 
> *****************************
> 
> "Let there be spaces in your togetherness,  
> And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.  
> Love one another, but make not a bond of love.  
> Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls."
> 
> \- Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
> 
> ********************************

January 4, 1936, Saturday

This was quite possibly the longest half hour of Fred’s life, so far. He sat next to their director, with Phyllis on his right at the dining table. Above him, Mark Sandrich droned on and on, seemingly thanking every single person in the cast and crew and in the studio administration for their good work on their movie. Beside Mark, on the other side, sat his wife Freda. Fred sat politely frozen, looking up occasionally at the director, over at his wife, who was already nodding sleepily in her chair, and trying to catch Ginger’s eye across the table. When they had arrived, Ginger, Lew and Lela were already seated across from them. They’d all said polite pleasantries, but after that, she had ignored him. While it was diplomatic and he should have expected it, it privately bothered him something fierce. Sandrich had gone on for at least half an hour now. Lela caught his eye and slightly shook her head, as if in pain, and Fred had to smother a smile.

He took to looking around the cream and gold dining room décor of the restaurant to stay awake. The Café Trocadero was a new establishment on the Sunset Strip, and immediately upon opening a year and a half ago had become THE place to see and be seen. He’d taken Phyllis here several times dining and dancing. The French inspired food was always excellent and the main restaurant opulent, but he preferred to head down to the downstairs to the private club room, where he could hide from the public when he came by himself or with a few friends. He doubted he’d get there tonight, not with Phyllis tagging along. In tantalizing hints, he could see through the crowd to the rear balcony, which had amazing views of the city lights at night. Maybe he could find somewhere to sit out there away from most of the crowds. However, since everyone would want to talk to him tonight, he doubted he’d have any privacy. He also desperately wanted to talk to Ginger, but she too, would be beleaguered by fans and crew wanting one last chat or photo together.

His eyes returned again and again to his dance partner, but she faced the other way, towards Harriet and her husband, Ozzie, at Randy’s table. She only occasionally looked at the director, which must have irritated him privately. That was entirely her intention. 

“And finally,” Sandrich said, raising his glass. “I don’t want to make a long speech, since dinner is on the way and dancing afterwards, but thank you to all of you for a fantastic shoot. It was a pleasure working with you all. And to our stars – Fred and Ginger – a huge thank you for yet another soon-to-be-hit!”

Both Fred and Ginger were obligated to stand and nod their thanks to the crowd. A cheer went up as they stood on opposite sides of the table. Fred glanced around at everyone, but when Ginger turned to him finally, and smiled, he had eyes only for her. Her blue eyes sparkled at him, and he couldn’t help taking in her dark blue rayon net evening dress with a taffeta linking. The V-neck at the front was held up with a trio of spaghetti straps that he knew would go down into a deep scooped back, and he was reminded forcefully of another dark blue dress from their dating days in New York, when they’d frequented the Casino in Central Park whenever possible for long nights of dancing close. He tried not to stare, or to wonder if she’d had the dress made to look so similar. Fortunately, the moment was over quickly, and they sat down while Sandrich thanked the rest of the cast, who all took their turn standing. He clapped loudly when Lucy stood for her first ever introduction, blushing a tremendous shade of red that nearly matched her burgundy gown. 

He deliberately held out his hand for Phyllis, guessing that she probably felt uncomfortable in her much more modest gown that was designed more for comfort while pregnant than for fashion. He’d promised her that they wouldn’t stay long, just long enough for speeches and dinner. She slipped her hand into his conspicuously on top of the table and he patted it comfortingly.  
Finally, Sandrich finished and sat down. 

Just in time, waiters rolled out trolleys with their meal. Tonight wasn’t a typical restaurant meal, but a cross between a restaurant and a buffet. Still, Fred and his table were served first along with Randy’s table a close second behind them. For a while, the sounds of silverware tinkling on plates and the low rumble of conversation filled the air. 

Eventually, though the food was consumed, and the band began to play a quiet tune in the background. This time, he wasn’t meaning to, but he caught Ginger’s eye. She was sipping a glass of iced tea, since she didn’t drink, and raised an eyebrow at him while inclining her head towards the dance floor in invitation. He didn’t mind improvisational social dancing, especially when it was with Ginger, who could practically read his mind. 

She didn’t have to ask twice.

“Gotta dance.” He let go of Phyllis’ hand and stood up, Ginger rising from her seat at nearly the same time. Extending his hand to her, he chose to ignore Phyllis’ heavy sigh. It wasn’t often that he and Ginger were able to dance together socially. He wasn’t about to let the opportunity go by.

She took his hand, and they strode onto the dance floor. Behind them, Fred could hear the band change tactics and they swung into the opening chords for an instrumental version of “Night & Day” from their film, ‘The Gay Divorcee’. Instantly, they smiled with common memories and flowed together. A quiet flutter went through the crowd as the people stilled and noticed their leads taking the dance floor. Fred took her in his arms and tried not to notice that the back of her dress was very low, and his hand was on her bare skin. Holding her closely, they went through some very basic – for them – dance progressions and their audience applauded each one. Reluctant to be the focus of attention, he waved his arm and encouraged others to join them on the dance floor. Happy couples jumped up and surrounded them, ecstatic to be on the same dance floor as the famous dance duo.

“Lovely dress, Ginge,” he murmured in her ear. It would probably be his only opportunity to talk to her privately tonight. 

They swayed together for a few more moments. Fred was counting every one of them. “Thank you,” she replied, squeezing his upper arm slightly where she rested her hand.

“I wish they’d chosen another song, though. This one is a bit too intimate.” He hummed the tune in her ear, knowing the lyrics spoke to them both.

A flash from a camera momentarily made them blink, but that was to be expected. The owner of the Trocadero, Billy Wilkerson, was also the owner of the “Hollywood Reporter”, the premiere entertainment industry magazine. There was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity to catch Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing together at his establishment. The photo was bound to be on the front page of the next issue of the magazine.

They wove through the dancing couples, just holding one another and enjoying the moment and escaping the camera wielding columnist and photographer.

“I guess I won’t be able to see you again until rehearsals start up in about 6 weeks.” Fred hadn’t sat down with their new Director, George Stevens, yet to determine the start of rehearsals. “Should be interesting with a new Director.”

“Should be a pleasant change to have a new Director, you mean” she replied sassily. She’d be happy to do a movie without Mark Sandrich for a change. A glimmer of sadness crossed her features. “Six weeks is a long time.”

He steered them away from the now crowded dance floor, towards the empty balcony. 

“Yeah, it is. Especially this six weeks.” They birth could happen at any time. He continued, “Hermes and I will begin tinkering with the music and hammering out some dance ideas as soon as we get it from Jerome and Dorothy. They promised to deliver it this week some time.”

“Speaking of Hermes, I think he’s dying to cut in and steal me away soon,” she said. Hermes was indeed dancing closer around them with a background extra who managed to hold her own with the talented choreographer. 

“Probably just as well. Phyllis is in a mood and I promised her that I wouldn’t stay too long tonight.”

She pulled him a little closer and ducked her head, holding him for herself for a moment longer. He continued to move his feet, and they swayed around the dance floor without even thinking about it much, always moving towards the doors. Hermes and his ‘date’ followed them, blocking them off from the other dancers.

“Well, let me know when the little one arrives, will you?”

“Sure, baby, I will.”

They swept through the open doors leading to the balcony and discovered why no one was out there. It was freezing. A cold wind pulled at their clothing. Fred did a fast turn and whipped them around the corner out of sight of the rest of the crowd. With Hermes and his partner discretely blocking the door, he and Ginger shared a quick kiss. The smell of her perfume and the warmth of her lips filled him with longing. The idea of not getting to see her or kiss her for six weeks was excruciating. With a sigh of regret, he swung them back around just as quickly, and back into the warmer restaurant dance floor, with no one the wiser.

Fred danced them back to the tables, where Phyllis still sat, talking with Freda Sandrich. With a final squeeze serving as a hug, he let her go. Hermes immediately snatched Ginger up and swirled her away, but not before sticking his tongue out at Fred. 

“Bye, you two!” 

Instead of watching Ginger leave, he asked Phyllis to dance. She declined, holding her hands over her enormous stomach and shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Probably overhearing the refusal, Lucy was at Fred’s side in a split second. She held out her hand to him imperiously, and he asked with a laugh, “Lucy, want to dance?”

“You bet!” she said, and they spun away onto the dance floor. She didn’t seem to mind that they were stopped every five seconds by someone else wishing Fred – or herself! – well. He tried keeping Ginger in sight, but it was impossible. She was being passed hand to hand to every man on the floor. He could hear her laughter over the crowd, though, and it made him smile to hear her happy. Finally, though, he thought it prudent to return to his wife and see if she wanted to leave. He’d done his duty here and said goodbye – for now – to his partner. He could justifiably escape.

Lucy pouted when they skidded to a stop right at Fred’s table, but she was soon scooped up into someone else’s arms and was away with a squeal of delight. 

Fred downed a glass of cold water while Phyllis wrapped up her conversation with Freda.

“Are you ready, Phyll?” he asked.

She struggled to her feet. “More than.”

Together they walked to the lobby, and picked up their coats. Within a few minutes, their chauffeur brought around the car and they went home.

*******************************

January 21, 1936

Hermes and George bracketed Fred like bookends holding him up. He sat with his head in his hands between them, his heart racing and his mind going a mile a minute.

The hospital smelled of cleaning solutions and fear. 

Last night, Phyllis had just settled down in bed next to him when her water broke. Since this was her second baby, she knew exactly what it was and what it meant. Fred had driven her to the hospital lickety-split, after waking up his mother to watch Peter, and drove probably too fast whizzing through the dark streets. Fortunately Mount Sinai Hospital was close by. He’d walked Phyllis in, said goodbye and been escorted to the waiting room. That had been six hours ago, and the sun was coming up now, a cold white brightness. For hours he’d waited for word, chewing his nails to the quick and pacing a rut into the linoleum flooring. He’d finally called Hermes and George an hour ago and both men had immediately joined him in the wait and worry room.

A bang of the double doors startled all three and they jumped to their feet.

A white haired doctor whom Fred didn’t recognized approached them. Fred felt faint with relief when the old man smiled. 

“Mr. Astaire! My congratulations. A fine son, and your wife is in recovery.”

George grabbed his arm and kept him upright as his knees wobbled. 

“Oh!” Suddenly he was at a loss. He didn’t’ know what else to say. Words had deserted him entirely. Hermes saved him. 

“That’s fantastic news. When can he see them?”

Fred flashed his friend a grateful look as his brain kicked back into gear. “Recovery?”

“Yes, the baby got stuck, and we had to do a c-section. She’ll need some looking after. I can recommend a few nurses for you if you like. The boy you can see now.”

Fred’s mouth was suddenly dry. He didn’t know whether to be terrified or excited and felt both. He stuttered out, “Yes!”

George clapped him on the arm and brought out one of his ever-present cigars and handed one to both Hermes and Fred, and to the doctor. With the surgeon waiting, Fred slipped it into his pocket. 

George pushed him gently towards the doctor. “Hey hey! A boy! Congratulations, Freddie!”

“Go see him, Fred!” Hermes urged. He turned to the doctor. “When was he born?”

“Oh a few hours ago. I think it was 2:01am. He’s been in the nursery while we finished up with your wife.”

With a terrified last glance at his friends, Fred followed the doctor through the double doors. 

**********************

Fortunately, the hallway was not long, or Fred might not have made it. His knees felt wobbly and his ankles loose as he trotted down the hall at the doctor’s heels. Outside the nursery, the doctor shook his hands and left, handing him off to the nursery room nurses. The women draped a gown over him and stuck a hair net over his head with wide eyes, thrilled with having a celebrity in their midst. However, they were entirely professional and in moments had him dressed, looking not unlike the doctor in scrubs. After washing his hands, they directed him to a rocking chair in the corner. Surrounded by little bassinets full of crying or sleeping infants, he waited while his stomach did flip flops and he shivered.

In moments, a second nurse approached, wearing a mask – but her eyes were smiling. In her arms, she held a tiny little baby, all wrapped up in a blue, thin cotton blanket.

Fred held out his arms automatically as the nurse placed his baby in them. Juggling the infant carefully, he snugged him into the corner of his arm and adjusted the blanket away from his small face with shaky hands. The newborn was lighter than he had expected, a feather weight of preciousness. 

Looking slightly red and squishy, the infant opened his grey-blue eyes and looked right at him. Time froze as Fred and his son stared at one another.

After rocking for a few moments, simply staring at the infant, he carefully unwrapped an arm and delicately unfolded his tiny hand, discovering his baby’s miniature fingers. He noted with amusement that they were long, like his. Maybe his son would play the piano. With that, he felt the tears start in his eyes and blinked rapidly to clear them. He didn’t want to cry in front of strangers. 

The nurse stepped away to inspect the newborn occupant of another bassinette to give him some privacy.

The little one stretched, arching his back and sticking out his butt and his face turned brick red. Both little arms extended over his head and Fred attentively adjusted his hold on the little boy. He smiled, and the baby again caught his eye as he settled. He tucked the blanket back around the thin arms.

“Hello, little one,” Fred began. He didn’t know what to say. “It’s nice to see you finally.”

The baby stare at him intently, as if he recognized the voice he’d heard for the last few months. 

He stroked down the soft skin of the baby’s cheek. Leaning in close, he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. The newborn smell surrounded him, earthy and somehow delicate at the same time. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, the scent settling his stomach as nothing else had. He stroked over the white downy hair on his head, then down his cheek again. The baby turned towards him, shifting his entire body, surprisingly strong and insistent. His little mouth opened, groping. 

The nurse noticed. “He’s hungry again, and it’s right on schedule. Would you like to give him a bottle?”

He had thought that Phyllis was going to nurse the baby, but suddenly he wasn’t sure. He’d left all those plans and decisions to his wife and now he didn’t know what to do. He nodded.

The nurse turned the baby’s face and unceremoniously stuck the bottle in his mouth. After a moment of gagging, the newborn latched on and sucked it down greedily. Fred watched in amazement. 

“How do they learn to do that?” he asked, watching the liquid visibly decrease in the glass bottle.

“Oh, it’s just a reflex. A survival instinct.”

After he drained the ounce, the nurse came back for him. 

Fred didn’t want to let the baby go, but reluctantly let the nurse take him out of his arms. She raised him to her shoulder and thumped him soundly on the back. Fred would have liked to protest, but maybe this was how you did it. Rising behind her, he suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself. The nurse efficiently tucked the infant under one arm, as if she did this all day, which she did, and gestured for him to follow. 

At the third bassinette, she deposited the baby. He was asleep already, all tucked into his blanket. Fred gave him a last soft caress as the nurse said, “Follow me, please.”

He reluctantly left his newborn and followed the business-like nurse. The click of her heels on the linoleum matched his soft thumps. The rhythm interested him but he ignored the sound, as she stopped outside a closed door.

“You get five minutes. No more,” she directed and opened the room up. The scent of chemicals, soap and possibly bodily fluids assaulted his nose. “Oh, and she’s on a lot of medication. Don’t expect her to be too coherent.”

Phyllis reclined on the bed. Her pale skin looked translucent against the pillowcase and she was swallowed up by the large bed, a tiny figure under the covers. An IV ran from her arm to a rack behind the bed. She looked over at her husband, her eyes fluttering unevenly, and her face brightened. 

“Hi there,” she whispered. Her voice sounded harsh, due to the breathing tubes shoved down her throat during the emergency cesarean section birth. 

“Hi there yourself. How’re you feeling?” He crossed to her and carefully took her non-IV hand in his. Above them, the monitors beeped and chirped disconcertingly.

“Just peachy. Can’t you tell?” Her eyes fought to focus on his, but her lips smiled. “How’s the baby? I haven’t gotten to see him yet.”

Fred was instantly outraged. “Why not?!”

“They are worried that I’ll drop him. My coordination isn’t so good right now.”

“Oh, yeah, dropping him would be bad.” He leaned in closer. “He’s beautiful, Phyll.”

She smiled a little crookedly. “Oh good, he must not look like you, then.”

Relieved to hear her sound like her usual sarcastic self, he laughed, too. “He’s got my fingers though, and my feet, but the rest of him looks like you, far as I can tell.”

“Well, sounds like he got the best of both of us then.” She closed her eyes, giving up on trying to focus them.

“Probably so.”

“As long as he doesn’t have your ears.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“What’s wrong with my ears?” Fred unexpectedly enjoyed the gentle banter. Things had been so tense between them for so long that he’d nearly forgotten how much he liked her cynical humor.

“Can you bring in the groceries?”

Suddenly confused, he watched as her eyes fluttered again and he realized that she was drifting back into a drugged sleep. 

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.” Her head tilted on the pillow and she drifted to sleep. 

The nurse, observing discretely from right outside the door, poked her head back in. “She’s in and out of it, Mr. Astaire. It’s completely normal.”

Fred had no idea what was normal or not, so he nodded compliantly. She gestured for him to follow her again. “Would you like to say goodbye to the baby?”

He leapt to his feet. “Sure do!”

With a final glance at his sleeping, drugged wife, they returned to the nursery. Entering the large room full of identical bassinettes, suddenly he could not remember which was belonged to his baby. Full blown panic erupted in his stomach and he gasped for a breath. The nurse, however, knew. Walking to the third from the left, she pointed to the sleeping baby.

“How do you know this one is mine?” he joked, coming closer and staring into the suddenly familiar face that he’d seen only once.

“Oh, it’s not hard. See? They’re all labeled and named, you see”. She pointed to the nearest bed to Fred.  
The little label read “Esperanza Morales, daughter of Diego & Elena Morales”. 

He went down the line of bassinettes, reading each card. When they got to his son, he just stared at it. It read “Fred Astaire Jr., son of Fred Sr. & Phyllis Potter Astaire”. 

The nurse beamed with delight and Fred managed a forced smile. 

She’d named him already. She’d named their little boy Fred, so that every time he called his son’s name, he’d be reminded of his legacy, and that this child was THEIRS – and that he was forever tied to her. He swallowed the lump in his throat as the nurse looked over at him. “Well, there he is.”

The infant wiggled and stuck a foot out of the bottom of the blanket. Fred laughed in honest amusement as he realized the little foot looked just like his, with the same little bump, though the baby’s foot was red and wrinkly and covered in dry, cracked skin. With a professional detachment, the attendant re-wrapped him tightly in his little blanket burrito. 

“This way, Mr. Astaire. Visiting hours are from 11 to noon and three to 4pm every day.” She gestured towards the door. “I suspect they will go home in about five days.”

“Oh, thank you.” Having no other choice, he stuck his hat on his head in a daze and with one more glance at the little red faced bundle, he allowed the woman to usher him back into the hallway and divest himself of his gown and hair net. Banished to the hallway once again, he stood there uncertainly until George and Hermes jumped to their feet and rushed to him. 

“So, how’s the baby?” George demanded, while Hermes asked, “How’s Phyllis?”

“Fine. Just fine. They are both fine.” 

Suddenly Fred felt like he needed to sit down. His strong dancers legs felt weak as a kitten and Hermes, with his own dancer’s quick reflexes, grabbed him before he fell over. Swinging him around to a chair, Fred plopped into it gratefully. Setting his elbows on his knees, he let his head, suddenly very heavy, collapse into his hands. The room got small and dark. 

The smelling salts shoved under his nose eventually helped. 

With Hermes and George hooting in glee because he fainted, they shoved him into George’s car and Hermes took his car keys away from him. Caravanning home, they got him settled and went their separate ways, their congratulations ringing in his ears. 

***********************

The phone rang again at Ginger’s house. Lela put down her knitting and looked over at her daughter, who sat with her feet up on the other end of the couch reading a book. 

“You want me to get that?” 

Ginger didn’t take her eyes off the page. “Nope.”

“It’s the fifth call today, Ginger.” Lela crossed her arms, wondering what had come over her daughter. Usually the phone was her lifeline, with friends calling incessantly. Exasperated, she rushed to the annoying phone and snatched up the receiver anyway. 

“Hello?” 

The voice on the other end of the line warbled something. Lela stuck her hand hard over the receiver. “Are you home? It’s Fred.”

She shook her head and whispered, “Take a message.”

Lela frowned at her, wondering what game the two were playing now, and did so. Ginger watched as Lela’s eyes grew wide and a broad smile graced her face. “Oh Fred, congratulations! That’s wonderful news. She's out right now but I’ll make sure she gets the message. Send all our love and kiss that baby for me.” 

After hearing the other end of the line click, she replaced the receiver and turned to her daughter. She didn’t understand her daughters’ uncharacteristic coldness towards her dance partner.

“Well, it’s a boy.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Ginger said and determinedly stared at the pages trembling slightly in her hands. 

Lela was about to scold her when she noticed the quivering of Ginger's chin and the tense, hard set of her shoulders. She turned away from her mother and held the book up higher, hiding her face. Deciding against admonishing her daughter, she quietly left the room, leaving her alone with her private agony.

****************************

Phyllis and Freddie Jr. came home exactly a week after his birth and the new normal began. With an older sibling, two dogs, a grandmother and a nanny, the household was busy and the new baby settled in well. A steady flow of visitors at the door – whom Fred turned away for the most part – and a constant stream of flower and gift deliveries had added to the noise over the past week. It was a happy, pleasant sort of chaos, even with the sleep deprivation a newborn always brought to a household.

Fred was taking the lunch dishes to the sink when the doorbell rang. Dumping them quickly, he rushed to grab the door before the bell rang again, waking up his sleeping wife and baby – even the five year old had gone down for a nap. The quiet was welcome. 

A messenger held out a package and he signed for it. Closing the door, he saw with a thrill that it was from Ginger. So far, he’d been unable to contact her over the past two weeks. He’d called a dozen times, but only spoke with Lela, his dance partner being out somewhere enjoying her break. For a change, she didn’t have another movie lined up immediately after “Follow the Fleet” and was enjoying her first ‘vacation’ in several years. She was probably out having fun somewhere and he envied her just a little bit. 

He tore open the wrapping paper, since the gift was addressed to him. Inside he found a beautiful layette set of Egyptian cotton newborn clothing, a silver cup and a silver spoon, carefully wrapped in blue paper. 

Inside the cup, he found a tiny envelope. It was addressed to him, and in Ginger’s flowing script, it read, “Read in private”. 

He didn’t know where his mother had gotten to, but he was alone otherwise. He set the box down on the entry way table and cracked the seal on the little envelope. 

Unwrapping the little piece of tissue paper inside, he paled and leaned against the wall behind him.

Unseen by him, because he had eyes only for the little item in his hands, Ann watched as her son slowly sank to the floor, his shoulders sliding down the wall. Clutching the little package, he wrapped his arms around his legs. Silent sobs wracked his slim body as he dropped his head to his arms. She hastily retreated, not wanting – yet – to intrude on the moment.

The note read simply, "I need a break. I love you. ~ Ginge"

He clutched the delicate chain that looked like a molten trail of liquid gold, with its tiny V of diamonds, tightly in his hand, along with the little slip of paper. He had gifted the necklace to Ginger for their first Christmas together, back in New York.

Now he knew why she had bedded him so well the other night. Now he understood why she had walked around him as if she were memorizing his body, her fingers trailing over his skin, committing to memory his every curve and line. Now he knew why she had kissed nearly every inch of him and they had stayed awake all night long making love. 

It was her goodbye.


End file.
